“Exiles Under the Bridge”

A Novel

By Andrew B. Hurvitz

Rory in the RV

On the outskirts of Pasadena, along the western border where it straddles the Arroyo Seco in its hollow, an old, dented RV was parked, behind a grove of oaks, aside a concrete encased stream where the water hardly flows. A half-mile upstream from the rusty and forgotten and marooned vehicle, The Colorado Street Bridge, magnificent, arched, soared overhead, a civic marker of grace and strength.

Rory Calhoun Gilmore, 47, lived in the RV. He ventured out by day, collecting bottles and cans. He crawled back inside at night, into his furtive shelter, and slept on the floor on a bed of newspapers. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 2

He had a part-time job as a warehouse worker at

Cabinet Town, a Chinese owned kitchen remodeling store, in

San Gabriel. He would take the bus out there on Thursdays,

Fridays and Saturdays, earn about $200, paid in cash on

Saturday night, and come back and live in the RV where his only expense was nothing.

Rory had stringy, long, gray hair and a scraggly beard, frozen like a waterfall in winter. Thorns and sunburns whittled his long, expressive hands into reddish parched appendages caked with dust and brushed with motor oil.

He was tall, walked with a limp and he used a tree branch cane. A wool herringbone driving cap obscured his eyes under a visor of shadow. Despite his disabilities, he got around at a fast pace, walking deliberately, to nowhere in particular.

In his vagrancy he still had dignity.

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He worked hard at Cabinet Town, lifting and unloading heavy boxes, wheeling them in and out of the hand truck, sweeping floors, organizing shelves of doors and hardware.

These work tasks kept him thin, kept him alive, kept him possessed of some small measure of self-worth. He was not just a homeless man, he was a non-conformist, and he wanted to remain just that.

When he went out along the sidewalks of Colorado

Boulevard, noisily pushing a steel basket of rattling cans and bottles, quite a few strangers were enamored by him, drawn into his ruined beauty, a cane-carrying prophet of

Old Town Pasadena, a biblical Brad Pitt. Something in his dishevelment seemed untrue, for he looked, under his mask of filth, once patrician.

Indeed, he was. His family was prominent, old

Angelenos who made money in oil and real estate. Now Rory ventured alone, disconnected, severed from his relations.

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His parents, George and Edna, had brought up Rory and his older brother Ed in a 4-bedroom, 3-car garage home across from the same parkland, the same arroyo, where he now lived in his RV, homeless.

Once upon a time, he was the beautiful boy in the beautiful house with the beautiful mom, and it must have seemed, so long ago, that nothing bad would ever befall this favored son.

He had fallen far from his privileged roots. He could look across from his encampment and see his childhood home on S. Arroyo, a custom-built ranch on a half-acre. It had crisscrossed paned windows, olive green, stained siding over red brick, and a low-pitched roof with wide eaves, a shady residence under the oaks, a study in relaxed casual, luxuriant rusticity.

On winter nights in the RV, shivering, wrapped in blankets, he recalled his childhood of chilly nights in the

1970s when his family burned logs and sat on shag rugs in a dark den illuminated by fire and clicked by crackle. The adults drank sherry, the children played Scrabble.

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That was long ago, in California, 50 years ago, when telephones were plugged into the wall, people showered with bar soap, read newspapers, consumed black pepper as an exotic spice, and hung café curtains and wood shutters in wall-to-wall carpeted bedrooms papered in gold and black wallpaper.

That was then, when Rory was young, when everything foolish and dangerous was a learning experience, and the cops knew your name, and they stopped to help you when you had fallen off your bike.

But modern America, in its feverish decline, caught up with Rory Calhoun Gilmore and not even his inherited position insulated him from mass indifference to individual suffering in these harrowing 21st Century times.

He went on, surviving, without his brother, without his dead parents.

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He ate saltines culled from the trash and drank sodas discarded on the dirt-hiking path near the bridge. He nourished himself with local plants, nibbling on red Toyon berries growing all around the chaparral, smashing fallen walnuts with fist-sized rocks.

He washed himself in bottled water and wiped off with oak leaves and newspapers.

Rory still knew the Arroyo well and got around in the dark and the light; on bike, on foot, always exploring without fear. There was still a foolish bravery about him.

Sleep terrified him most.

He often woke up screaming, gasping for breath, full on night terrors.

When he shouted, he threw off the coats and sheets that covered him, and bolted up, sweaty and disoriented, under the musty down jackets, jeans and t-shirts. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 7

To a hypochondriac symptoms of the mind, imaginary or real, are all the same. The terrors of going mad, of dizziness, of getting lost in the very backyard he knew so well, all these fears conspired to unhinge him.

He had a prescription for Clozapine. It calmed him.

But sometimes he would just forget to take it.

He had grown up bi-polar but his illness was under control. And then, after 30, he stopped his medications.

And lost his mind.

On the day he lost his mind again the weather was sunny, the air was brisk, the temperatures cool, and the mountains stood crisp, clear and infallible.

Those sparkling days in Southern California when it seems nothing can go wrong are always tragic.

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The day he lost his mind it was dawn, just morning and

Rory was in his car, stopped at a red light at Orange Grove and Colorado. And he was seized with terror for no damn good reason.

He abandoned his car and ran back south down Orange

Grove, tearing his shirt off, pulling his belt out of the pants, falling on the ground, wrestling with his pants, stripping them off and screaming.

Everyone drove by and nobody stopped.

After that panic attack, Rory went to live, somewhere east of Duarte, and told nobody. He went into the great, lost America wandering, ill, without family and hope.

Then somehow, like a migrating bird, he circled back to Pasadena. He moved down into the Arroyo, within the woods, along a hill beside his old house.

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2017: The Fire

They were four teens who were out late at night, looking for trouble. They rode their bikes down to the

Arroyo and went into the park. They saw an RV. They laughed. They went to gather some wood and dried leaves.

They stuffed it all into some large plastic garbage bags.

Quietly, next to midnight, they placed the flammable bags under the trailer where Rory slept. And one of the boys took a plastic lighter and ignited the debris.

And they all biked off fast, holding their hands over their mouths to suppress laughter, cycling up the hill, jumping off their bikes on the street, falling down in spasms of idiocy, getting back on their wheels and riding off into the night hoping they killed someone.

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Rory awoke to find the RV ablaze. He was blinded and choked by the smoke. He pushed his way out of the door into the darkness. He coughed violently, expelling heaves of smoke out of his lungs, gasping for breath as flames consumed the RV.

The fire leapt out of the trailer and ignited some nearby trees. And then the whole scene was a massacre of burning wood, leaves, brush, grass; blackened branches, melted plastic, followed by the popping, staccato rustle of fire and then an exploding propane tank.

On the ground, face caked in dirt, staring up at his saviors, he was revived with filtered air behind an oxygen mask, surrounded by emergency medical technicians, firefighters and flashing red lights. The first responders carried him on gurney, up the hill into the waiting ambulance, just across the street from his childhood home.

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The Gilmores

Rory’s father, George Gilmore, had family backing, backing to pursue creative endeavors, like screenwriting, which he imagined himself talented at. He became friends with some movie people, most notably writer Dominick Dunne, who introduced him to studio people, writers, producers and actors.

In 1969 George wrote a screenplay, “Lincoln the

Savior” and gave it to Mr. Dunne, who showed it to Director

Sidney Lumet, who never read it.

George wrote another spec in 1970. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 12

“General Grant and the Missus” was a potential vehicle for Paul Newman and Faye Dunaway. But that script sat unsold and unread even though George judged it to be a superb successor to “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

He groomed himself as an erudite WASP would. He was a conservative dresser, keeping his hair trimmed well into the early 1970s. He favored white oxford shirts, crew necks, and baggy khakis worn without socks.

His defects included a short-temper, impatience and bristling snobbery. He came from money and entitlement, top of the heap.

He loved men but kept his love secret. He idolized women, placing them in two categories: saints and whores.

He thought these designations immutable.

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On a lone mid-summer trip to Knotts Berry Farm he met a young woman working in an ice cream cafe who had just moved to Orange Country from Boston. She was blue-eyed

Edna. He liked her prim, shy, proper looks. He asked her out, and after only a few dates, he proposed.

They married and then quickly there were two sons, Ed and Rory.

There was life in a starter apartment in East Pasadena with other young families. When baby Ed cried, George would go out to the courtyard and smoke a cigarette.

He gave Edna money to buy groceries, and she shopped alone and came back with the bags, and the baby was asleep and George was reading a paper, and she unpacked the items and prepared dinner, and then George would shower, and Edna would feed the baby, change his diaper, and George would watch TV, and then the baby would cry, and George would go outside to smoke a cigarette. And they lived in this way, and neither husband nor wife thought the arrangement inequitable. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 14

But she got tired of her subservience quickly. He wasn’t listening. He was preoccupied with his burgeoning career as a Hollywood writer, an occupation that had not paid him a dime. He sought out connections to get him work.

And Dominick was the ticket.

Once a month or so, Dominick invited him to Malibu

(“to work over some ideas”). George felt honored and important.

The two married fathers would sit naked in a hot tub, drinking cold beer, rubbing their legs together under water. Yet they denied, even to each other, any sexual feelings. The days with Dominick were empty to him but fulfilling to others who envied his dalliances in upper echelon Hollywood. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 15

At night, on the long drive back from Malibu, he travelled in his tobacco brown Mercedes roadster. He went along the curves, Peter Nero on the 8-Track, gliding through the canyons, shifting gears, top down; blissfully, slightly, imperceptibly intoxicated.

His navy scarf blew as he emerged, with sighs, disappointingly, again, into the over lit San Fernando

Valley. He reluctantly got on the freeway at Topanga

Canyon, drove swiftly to Pasadena in 25 minutes and exited

Orange Grove.

He was still speeding along on the bridge over the

Arroyo, with his secret, raw, unspoken, sensual feelings, returning to a wife he did not really love.

Once home, he poured himself a scotch and recounted how he had worked all day with Dominick Dunne, brother-in- law of writer Joan Didion.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 16

“Dominick thinks I’m very talented. He’s always inviting me over to talk about ideas,” George said.

Then one day, without warning, Dominick’s invitations ceased. No explanation. “General Grant and the Missus” was forgotten.

After that notable social rejection, the hope went out of George.

When nobody bought his screenplays, when no agent cared to represent him, when Hollywood remained blind to his typed brilliance, he got angry, blaming those people for blocking his ascent.

Those stupid agents, those pompous directors, those anti-intellectuals in Hollywood, all of them hadn’t the foresight to realize that both “Lincoln the Savior” and

“General Grant and the Missus,” might be the next “Birth of a Nation.”

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He cringed as he envisioned Dustin Hoffman as Lincoln or Elliot Gould as General Grant and it sickened him.

“Those people” he muttered, never naming exactly the ethnicity he despised and blamed for his failures.

He wasn’t one to beg, or pay his dues, or start at the bottom.

He thought he was quite important though he had not accomplished much of anything. It irritated him to be thrust into a competitive world, so he sat out the contests, the struggles, and retreated to his investments, his inheritance and his fine-boned wife.

He owned some buildings, in a family trust, scattered throughout Northeast Los Angeles, Pasadena, and Glendale: shabby frame bungalows, a downtown paint factory, stucco two flats from the 1920s. They were not the mark of savvy investing, only lucky inheritance, but they were, in totality: Gilmore Fine Properties, Est. 1925.

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Luckily, for him, he had rental income so he was still able to earn a living. He covered his typewriter and stuck it up in the closet behind his Alden shoe boxes.

To assure himself that he was indeed industrious and working, like all the other men in Pasadena, he would put on a suit, visit his properties, check in on the buildings, confer with the tenants, and assess if the landscapers had cut the grass correctly and blown the leaves away from the foundations. He kept an office at 5757 Wilshire Boulevard with a two-day-a-week secretary.

He was proper in his appearance and detailed in arranging the props of his existence into a handsome and convincing story of success.

Cautiously, bi-monthly, he would visit unlit, woodsy

Elysian Park and drive into the parking area and sit in his car and smile at other men who parked next to him. But he rarely left his vehicle. Mostly he would park, look around, get scared, then pull out abruptly, and take the 110 back to Pasadena. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 19

He told everyone: “I’m so busy. All I do is go driving around Los Angeles. There isn’t a moment to breathe.” It was a good alibi.

“My husband owns properties and he invests in a select portfolio of well-regarded neighborhoods,” Edna told her neighbors.

Lodge and Family

Edna’s father, Epsom Lodge, worked as a bus driver but came home and wrote poetry. He was poor, never earning a good income. His non-conformity put him at odds with the other Lodges who were geographically incarcerated New

Englanders, owners of fabric mills and shoe factories. Poor

Epsom, the bus driver and poet, was not made strong enough to earn a proper living. He struggled to support his family, but he and his wife managed to buy a little house in Medford and raised two daughters there.

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Their life was dreary. The girls brought joy but the

Lodges were frugal, flinty people who kept glass jars of pennies in the closet, consumed potato soup, baked cod, and powdered milk and bathed twice a week with cracked slivers of Ivory Soap. They collected newspapers, paper bags, rubber bands and silver foil.

There persisted, in the Lodges, a brittle line of emotionally fragile men and women torn up by sadness and precarious moodiness. Shunning psychotherapy, distrusting open talk and supportive friends, fearing embarrassment and scandal, they clammed up. Quite a few, even the venerable, brave, admired ones, lived and died broken hearted. It was always winter in the family Lodge.

These were Edna’s people.

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Edna’s youngest sister, Rebecca, a promising writer and poet who studied with Robert Lowell at Harvard, committed suicide on August 18, 1967, her 21st birthday, jumping onto the eastbound lanes of the Mass Pike from the bridge near BU. It was another one of so many sad tales woven into collective family memory, passed down like old cable knit sweaters.

After Rebecca died Edna ran away from all that.

The Technicolor Dream

For Edna in exile, Southern California was exceptional: a warm, sunny, vibrant, Technicolor dream, a place where every new morning was like the first new morning on Earth.

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Every color was intensified. The red cars on the freeway were redder than cherry lollipops, the white houses were whiter than frothy whipped cream, the pink geraniums were pinker than pink lipstick, the blonde heads were blonder than corn.

The catastrophes and the fires that lit the hills up, those were bigger, brighter, and more catastrophic than any fire back in Boston.

A fire in Boston burnt only a building. But in

Southern California a blockbuster fire could incinerate hundreds of square miles.

There was a morbid thrill, a heightened anticipation of danger on the mornings when the winds blew strong. Edna lived for these end days of Los Angeles: the fire warnings, the sounds of sirens in the distance, the sudden smoke coming over the San Gabriel’s.

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She smoked Kent cigarettes. She had thrown them out of her car window without thinking. Then she realized that her discarded, smoldering cigarette could ignite a conflagration, destroy homes and kill hundreds of innocent people. Her outsized morbidity had expanded on the western frontier of California.

The ravishing beauty of the driest, windiest days, the inevitable trailing pattern of destruction, those were events produced for Edna’s entertainment and enjoyment. Of course, she wished nobody harm, yet those red flag days were really quite thrilling.

On her days of errands, driving, or sitting in traffic on the freeway, she looked up at the green signs for Santa

Monica and Los Angeles and thought of Angie Dickinson and

Burt Bachrach speeding along in a convertible on Pacific

Coast Highway. She was thrilled to live in the same city as those stars.

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Her favorite song was “Love is a Many Splendored

Thing,” the title soundtrack from that mid-1950s movie starring Jennifer Jones as a Hong Kong “Eurasian” who falls in love with William Holden.

Edna had no Asian blood in her, but she became enamored of Chinese pottery, which she could collect and surround herself with. She also bought some fetching, body hugging cheongsams with mandarin collars woven in silk which she paired with high heels and flat, small beaded purses.

In 1969, pregnant with Rory, and pushing Ed in a baby buggy down E. Colorado Boulevard, she passed a store window that featured a multi-colored porcelain Chinese Buddha on a pedestal and laughing children around him. She bought it for $40. It was the first of many she collected.

I Bought a House for You Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 25

George, Edna and Ed lived in a second-floor apartment near Caltech, a few blocks south of Colorado.

The apartment was full of young, single people, newlyweds and college students. Edna was happy there. She had friends and neighbors to talk to when she was home during the day. There was a lovely courtyard with mature trees and some benches to sit on, and often mothers would come down with their small children and congregate. For a few hours in the middle of the day there was laughter and liveliness.

One evening, after she took a grilled sirloin out of the oven, George came into the kitchen. “I bought a house for you,” he said.

He looked for her expression, but she was stunned.

They hadn’t even discussed moving. She wasn’t even brought along to see the home he had chosen.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 26

“Most women would jump up and down with joy,” he said and walked out of the kitchen.

The new house was an expansive, modern, pea green place under the oaks across from the Arroyo Seco. It sold for $90,000 and had four bedrooms, three bathrooms, two fireplaces, a laundry room, a mud room, a three-car garage, kitchen, den, library, and landscaped backyard with a patio fountain.

They moved in late August 1970.

One-month later Rory was born.

The New Neighbors: 1977

California Terrace is a little hook of a street, set back, east of S. Arroyo Blvd down from some very large mansions on Grand Avenue.

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Framing the view to the north of California Terrance is the magnificent and misunderstood Colorado Street

Bridge, a lure for young lovers, and sadly, the occasional suicide.

Edna was emptily satisfied in her world of working as a docent at the USC Pacific Asia Museum, housed in a historical building at 46 N. Los Robles Avenue. It looked like a Chinese imperial palace, and the museum had an air of some consular institution representing the most educated and refined Westerners in the Eastern arts.

Her volunteer work only went on two days a week. She was also studying Oriental cooking at Pasadena City

College, a course that taught mostly white ladies about everything from Indian curries to Japanese yakitori.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 28

Her marriage was over in a physical sense. George rarely showed affection, and sexual intercourse was beyond the pale. The boys, 10 and 7, were in and out of the house, riding bikes, playing in the yard, unmonitored and left to roam without fear, except for being told to never go to the

Colorado Street Bridge.

Edna looked at George’s outward masculinity, his strict and unaffectionate parenting, his duty to his work and to his properties as evidence of heterosexuality. He didn’t make love, but he wasn’t a fruit. She was sure of that.

She lived not for love, but for renovations and gardening.

She planted fruit trees, built a hot tub, remodeled the kitchen with brown Formica cabinets and an orange vinyl floor. She dry-walled the garage and paved the front walkway in brick.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 29

Her home was graceful and elegant, a domestic stage set dressed up in happiness.

George spent long hours traveling all over Los Angeles to inspect his buildings or to bid on new properties. He never called Edna during the day. He wandered around LA and kept his work life secret.

Occasionally, his coldness subsided. He would come home happy, excited, and ready to entertain his two sons.

But then he would ask to eat alone, to go into his office with the door shut, asking for silence in the house so he could concentrate on business.

At times he would emerge from his office and talk to his sons about how he had given up on Hollywood, an instructive story of prejudice directed against him by powerful forces.

“You boys are too young to understand this, but certain kinds of industries only accept certain people.

They restrict jobs to their own kind,” George said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 30

“What do you mean Dad?” Rory asked.

“You have big rich Jews from New York who only hire their own kind. And if you aren’t one of them, they don’t want you. I see them in my profession now, slumlords. One thing I’m proud of is how well we look after our properties,” George said.

Edna stepped in. “That’s not true at all boys. We aren’t prejudiced. Anyone with determination can do anything they want. And your father wanted people in

Hollywood to recognize him but it didn’t happen. And nobody is to blame,” she said.

“Can I talk with you?” George asked.

Edna walked into the kitchen with him. “You made me look like a fool. Like a liar,” he said.

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“You are a liar if you blame the Jews because you failed in Hollywood. You are a rich, white, Christian

American, the luckiest kind of human being on Earth yet you want to poison your sons with race hatred. It sickens me,” she said.

“I’m leveling with them. They have to see that people will discriminate against them too. It’s a fact of life.

You are naïve lady,” he said.

The Garden Refuge

Edna’s garden was a refuge from her marriage.

She planted half a dozen English lavenders in the front, near the sidewalk. She mixed them with rosemary, thyme, catmint and lemon scented geraniums. There were white roses and two Meyer lemon trees, two Satsuma orange trees, two avocado trees and two dwarf lime trees. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 32

One Sunday morning, when everyone else was asleep, she awoke early and walked into the living room in her pale, blue, abbreviated nightgown with the flouncy hem and furry white slippers. She opened the shutters to let in the morning light.

She looked outside and saw a young Oriental woman walking with her little girl. The mother had long black hair, tied back in a pink-ribbon ponytail. They stopped at the edge of the garden. The woman bent down to the girl’s height, pointing out bees and flowers.

Edna was tempted to come out and say hello. But she stayed in. Edna was afraid that the stranger might think she was patrolling or guarding her home and garden.

The visitors moved on. Edna stood alone in her living room, behind the partially opened shutter, watching them with longing and affection. She regretted not going out, for not taking the dare and opening the door.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 33

A possible friend?

Another Sunday spent around the house, another weekend of silent cohabitation and cooking meals for the boys and

George.

Another Sunday. Why did it matter? She wished for a kind of trouble, something that might shake up things.

Her loveless life, her meaningless chores, her fruitless hobbies, her listless meals, her wandering hours inside the house, all of it was building to a crack-up.

And George was there but he was gone, and her alliance with him was over, and she was trapped in a secure life without love.

The Private Office of George Gilmore Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 34

Privacy was always of the utmost importance to George.

He kept the family telephone number unlisted in the white pages. He established a private bank account in

Switzerland where he stashed some emergency cash, as he called it, but he did not share its existence with his wife.

His home office was a dark paneled room hung with illustrations of President Lincoln and General Grant, and commemorative plates from the 1968 Inaugural of President

Richard M. Nixon. There was an 1840 Oak desk from England with four drawers on each side, as well as a center one. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 35

An elderly locksmith and his wood carpenters had altered the desk, on George’s direction, installing two custom made deadbolt locks uniquely welded to 40-inch pieces of vertical steel that drilled down through all the drawers. The lock fronts, one right, one left, were set down like manhole covers on the top of the table, providing an almost impregnable defense against intrusion. The keys to the locks were kept, not on George’s keychain, but in another strange hideout, under a tub of Vaseline stored in a closet. Only a thief with psychic powers could gain control of the locks and their key.

Edna stayed away from George’s desk.

She was not allowed in George’s office, nor was his youngest son.

To explain the fortress office, George talked of how a man running a business required respect and confidentiality.

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He owned millions of dollars in real estate, he collected rents, and kept tax records, and he had files with letters from attorneys, accountants and inspectors.

His strict, top security commands seemed reasonable and understandable.

But on some of the secret papers were names and numbers of men throughout the city, men whom George had met, men who let him visit.

Haunting George was the horrible possibility of discovery, if the men and their numbers were found. So, he took extraordinary precautions to hide their names and numbers from any prying eyes: wife, sons, or black mailer.

He had another life. He went adventures during the workday, meeting men in places all over the city.

There were many motels in Los Angeles, little roadside inns, aside the hills, beyond the curves, with 10 or 20 rooms, scattered along Eagle Rock, Colorado, Hollywood,

Sepulveda, and Ventura Boulevards. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 37

They were cheap neon signed places, scented in stale smoke and Lysol, $30 one-hour rentals. George knew some of the owners, and he enlisted them, through cash payments, to set up rendezvous meetings with young actors, bodybuilders, hustlers and other lonely men for afternoon sex.

All payments were cash. Nothing was traceable.

And this was also George’s life, hidden and locked and stored away from his family with nothing coming out of the darkness to destroy him.

Ed, The Favorite

Ed Gilmore, who came into the world in 1967, had a shy, distant personality some might characterize as cold, inherited from his father. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 38

Unlike other boys, he hardly knew how to get in trouble. He obeyed his parents. He kept his room neat. He put away his toys. He never talked back: not to his parents, his teachers, or to the Reverend Gordon Hawn at

St. James Episcopal Church where he attended Sunday School along with his little brother Rory.

His obsequiousness, timidity and strange ability to disappear during family fights, turned him into a

Switzerland of Sons, always in the right, always neutral, never at war, private, secretive, securely locked.

George had an unhidden open preference for Ed as his favored son. But Ed didn’t play up to his father or try to ingratiate himself at all. He didn’t need to.

He stayed constant throughout childhood, and when he grew into young adulthood, he aimed for USC, and business school. His future would be running the next generation of

Gilmore Fine Properties.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 39

The Suicide Bridge

Rebecca’s suicide pushed Edna to California in exile, vowing to never go back to New England, leaving her widowed father alone.

Even before the suicide, Edna had dreamt of

California. She had always wanted to get out of New

England, to escape the oppressive smallness of her family.

Her marriage, she discovered, was a thin and feigned conceit. She was cast and played a part but her role required only a performance as Mrs. George Gilmore.

But as mother, she had feelings, and her vulnerabilities and weaknesses were something she allowed only Rory to know. Her youngest was like her in so many ways.

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Morosely, their home in Pasadena was within view of the Colorado Street Bridge, 150 feet high, a structure that sometimes provided a convenient and deadly place for suicide. By its presence, the bridge extracted a psychic toll.

Edna loved walking on the trails just across the street from her home, loved taking the boys on walks down in the ravine that ran along the dry river, on those dirt paths burrowed into the ground leading under the grand arches of the Colorado Street Bridge.

She was a woman of two minds on those walks: the eager, nature loving Californian, devotee of the outdoors, supporter of historic and glorious Pasadena and its most notable engineering feat. She was also the woman afraid.

On those sunny walks with her sons near the bridge she was also the terrified mother fearful of losing them. She was afraid they might inherit the depressive and irrational genes, the inherited insanity that killed Rebecca.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 41

She looked up in fear to that arched bridge over the

Arroyo Seco.

On certain nights, the cold nights, the winds would blow from the north and carry the sounds of police, ambulance and fire trucks. And Edna would lay in bed, her blanket pulled up to her chin, dreaming nightmarishly of something deadly up high on the bridge.

The Allowance

“You have $500 a month to spend. $100 a week,” George said to Edna.

They were not tight. They were doing well. He just liked control.

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By 1977, Gilmore Fine Properties managed some 14 apartments with 153 units at an average rent of $179 a month. The buildings were scattered around East Los

Angeles, Highland Park, Echo Park, Eagle Rock, and Lincoln

Heights. $25,000 a month in rent was collected.

George also owned some commercial buildings, one-story affairs, near downtown Los Angeles, on once intact streets where the 110 and the 101 had sliced through in the early

1960s.

In Chinatown, on Temple Street, George owned a building with three shops that included a camera repair store, a tailor, and a hair styling salon run by a young man from Hong Kong, Mr. Tony Wang who owned Wang Bang Hair

Celebration.

Wang was the first stylist in Chinatown to style the local women in the Farrah Fawcett style. His shop thrived.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 43

George went in one day to get his rent check. The place was filled with young Asian women. Some were getting their black hair dyed blonde.

Tony was at a station, using a curling iron to twist and shape curls on a newly blonde Asian woman.

“Very nice isn’t it Mr. Gilmore?” Tony asked.

The shop was filled with loud, pounding disco music.

There were posters taped to the wall of Farrah Fawcett,

Donna Summer and Cheryl Tiegs. Incense burned in front of a Buddhist shrine stacked with bowls of oranges.

There was a happy, boisterous, madhouse, frantic, celebratory electricity in the air.

An assistant at the register handed George an envelope with $320. George nodded to Mr. Tony who winked back at him. George left the store, went back to his car, and drove off to Pasadena.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 44

The Antique Store Fire

One afternoon, as Edna drove home from the library, she was tuned to KNX radio and heard about a three-alarm fire at an antique furniture store west of Fair Oaks, south of Green Street.

The boys were home as she raced up the driveway, ran into the house, and yelled at them to get into the car with her.

The three of them sped up California, turned right on

Fair Oaks and encountered a scene of fire engines, police cars and some news vans.

She double parked the car and told the boys to get out and hold her hands as she walked with them up the sidewalk attempting to get closer to the blaze.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 45

Fireman pulled hoses from their trucks, cops directed traffic, reporters reported. But none of them impeded Edna and her two boys as they walked closer to the event.

“Ed watch your brother,” she directed as they pushed down a side street where a one-story brick building billowed black smoke, and flames danced out of wood framed roofing.

There were hydraulic powered ladders above, with firemen on top spraying streams of water down on the burn site. The wind blew the smoke north and west, away from

Edna and the boys. The blaze was crisp, in focus, brilliantly colored, in orange, black, and red against the blue sky.

The boys stopped, 40 or so feet away from the fire, and Edna crouched down behind them, less as protector, more as spectator. “Look at this scene boys! Aren’t the firemen magnificent! They are real heroes!” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 46

Then the wind changed direction. What had blown north now blew south, and the smell of burned wood, melted rubber and industrial poison swamped them.

They started coughing, and Edna pulled her silk scarf off her head and tied it behind her neck to drape it over her nose and mouth.

“Boys! Evacuate immediately! Go back to Fair Oaks!” she yelled as they retreated from the fire battle and back to the spectator’s area.

They ran across the street, into the car and drove away.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 47

That night George came home moody. He was angry about something he could not or would not divulge. Rory was excited, hopped up about the day’s fire action, and he wanted to tell his father about it. George was drinking a scotch in his spot near the fireplace when Rory came in.

“Dad. Sorry to bother you. See that fire in the fireplace? I saw a really big fire this afternoon with Mom and Ed! Can I tell you about it?” Rory asked.

George smiled, closed lips, professionally cool.

“Tell me what happened,” George said.

Rory sat down next to George’s feet and told him how

Mom came home, rounded up his brother and him, and drove them to a burning warehouse.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 48

He spoke of how daring and fun Mom had been, bringing them so close to the fire, and letting them see how firemen fought, how they aimed their hoses at the flames, how amazing it was to see the equipment, the smoke, the red sirens, the shooting cannons of water.

“That sounds very exciting Rory. I think your experience today was something you won’t soon forget,”

George said.

“Have you brushed your teeth and washed your face and made pee-pee?”

“No Dad. I haven’t. Should I go to bed now?” Rory asked.

“Yes, be a good boy and clean up and tuck yourself in.

I’m going to have a talk with Mom,” George said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 49

Ed was in his bed already, reading under the covers with flashlight, when Rory came into their shared bedroom.

“I just told Dad about our adventure today,” Rory said.

Ed emerged tauntingly from under his blanket and pointed his flashlight at his brother.

“You probably shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

“Why?” Rory asked as Ed put his ear against a wall.

“I can hear them arguing right now. Dad is furious Mom brought us near the fire,” Ed said.

“Why? We weren’t hurt or anything,” Rory said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 50

“He will look for any reason to make her feel stupid.

No mother brings her kids close to a dangerous fire just for entertainment,” he said.

“I didn’t make them fight. I just told the truth,”

Rory said.

“You don’t tell the truth if a lie works better,” Ed said.

“I don’t like to lie. I want to tell the truth. What’s wrong with that?” Rory asked.

“Maybe in some families that works. Not in this one!”

Ed answered.

The muffled argument between the parents lasted quite a while.

And then the house was dark and silent. And everyone wanted to sleep but nobody could.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 51

Suspension

On one April afternoon Rory came home from school and found Ed sitting at the kitchen table, dejected, his mother next to him, equally sad.

“What? Why aren’t you at baseball?” Rory asked.

“Tell your brother what you did,” Edna said.

“I cheated. I looked at Chris LaPaque’s test and the teacher caught me in algebra,” he said.

“Cheater? I never thought,” Rory answered.

“Shut up! You don’t know how hard algebra is!” Ed screamed.

“Stop it! Stop it now! You are already in deep trouble and when your father gets home who knows what he’ll do!”

Edna said.

“I’m sorry for you Ed. I didn’t mean to get you angry,” Rory said.

“What are you apologizing for? I fucked up!” Ed said.

Which provoked Edna to slap his face hard and stand up. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 52

“Don’t you ever, ever use that vile word in my house!

Do you understand me? I won’t tolerate swear words just as

I won’t tolerate cheating, lying, and all the rest of it!”

Edna said.

Ed didn’t cry. He buried his face in his arms and covered the back of his head on the table.

“This is what is means to be ashamed! This is a lesson for both of you. You haven’t only shamed yourself, you’ve brought shame on our whole family Edward. Now I have a son who is a cheater. And suspended from school too. For the entire week!”

At glum dinner that night they ate fish sticks and tater tots, tomato juice and strawberry ice cream. And there was no joy at the table, no conversation, just the two boys eating silently. George walked in and surmised that something bad had developed.

He put his newspaper on the counter and took off his raincoat and looked over to Edna.

“What? What now? Rory misbehaving?” he asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 53

“No. Your other son. The favorite. He was suspended from school today. Tell your father what you did!” she said.

Ed looked slowly up at his father. “I cheated on my math test. The teacher caught me. I was suspended,” he said.

“Well that’s a swell thing to do. I hope you are proud of yourself. I had high expectations for you as my eldest.

And this incident had better be the first and last of its kind!” George said.

George walked out of the room and went into his bathroom, his usual nightly routine after work.

“OK boys. I’m tired. Go to your room and study and be quiet. I’m cleaning up and I’m sure your father is tired too,” Edna said as her children obediently and carefully and silently left the kitchen.

Edna carried the dirty dishes to the sink, turned on the water and poured soap onto a sponge. She felt a tug on her shirt and looked down at Rory.

“Why did he think I was the one who did wrong?” Rory asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 54

“I can’t answer that. Maybe he thought your brother should have behaved with more maturity as a sixth grader should,” she answered.

“He always thinks I’m the guilty one,” Rory said, dejected and hurt, innocent collateral damage from strange family dynamics. He walked away and went back to his room.

After Edna cleaned the plates she went to knock at the door of George’s study. He was sitting at his desk, eating his fish sticks alone under the light of the green table lamp.

“May I disturb you?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered.

“What should we do about Ed? What course of action?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I think he learned his lesson,” George said.

“I have a busy week with appointments at the Pacific

Asia. I’m preparing a garden party with the Chinese folks at Pacific and they expect me to organize it. I can’t worry about Ed being home alone and getting into trouble again,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 55

“I’ll bring him around with me. Three days with dad will straighten him out. Let him see come to the office and organize my files. He can drive around the properties and maybe I’ll put him to work with Marco and Nacho cleaning up,” he said.

“That’s a good idea. Constructive. Thank you, George,” she said.

She picked up his dirty plate and walked to the door and stopped and turned back.

“Did you ever cheat in school?” she asked.

“No. I always was honest. In school that is. I saved my lying outside of class,” he said.

Down on S. Hoover St.

It was late afternoon, on a smoggy day, in an old- fashioned room in a small, two-story apartment at 429 S.

Hoover Avenue. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 56

Ed sat in a wing chair next to a walnut Stromberg-

Carlson floor console radio from the 1930s, its top covered in white lace and decorated with black and white framed photographs of men in military uniform, and little girls in dresses in front of church.

A rotating metal fan blew hot air around the room as the white venetian blinds clanged against the windows.

Outside, sirens, car horns and the occasional helicopter broke the napping atmosphere. Ed was ready to doze off, here, waiting for his father, yet again, to conduct business, to collect his checks.

George came out of the kitchen with Della Prescott, the 80-year-old building manager who lived here, on premises, and monitored rent payments and kept an eye on the comings and goings of the 12 other tenants who lived here.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 57

It was a changing neighborhood, a few blocks north of

Wilshire. It was once gracious, spotless and fastidious, now it was blighted. Its well-heeled crowd had fled to the suburbs, leaving behind poor immigrants who took over the churches, department stores and hotels.

With her pale white skin, dark lipstick and gray, parted hair held back with bands, Miss Prescott, a retired

English teacher, exuded propriety. She had brewed some iced tea and carried it in glass pitcher along with Dixie cups.

“Would the junior Mr. Gilmore care for some iced tea?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” he answered.

George sat down, in a flowered 19th Century armchair, hands folded in his lap. He assumed the proper supplicant stance, regarding her with deference and respect.

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“Edward is good name. Every boy in my classroom with that name was a good student,” she said.

“He’s a good boy too. We are very proud of him,”

George said, praising his son who just had been accused of cheating in school.

“How are the new tenants?” George asked.

“The Parks? Well they are very quiet. I guess the

Chinese are like that. I’m sorry. They are Korean. I can’t keep up with the Orientals. But they have something very smelly in their kitchen. They eat it every night. It is a kind of cabbage soaked in garlic. It is very stinky,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 59

Miss Prescott had lived in the building since the early 1950s, and in Los Angeles since 1914. She had seen the city grow from a verdant garden to a bustling metropolis, to a new kind of place with strange people from every corner of the globe. Her tenants and neighbors, seemingly overnight, arrived from Mexico, Korea, Guatemala and China.

“I was a teacher for many years. And each year the new children would arrive, and I could pronounce every one of their names so easily. That was back in the 1950s. Judy,

John, Steven, Robert, Michael. Now we have so many foreigners here. The old people are dying,” she said.

“You used to see men in suits and hats, and women in dresses and gloves, it was so proper. They were folks from

Kansas, Iowa and Minnesota who moved here after the war.

The church bells would ring on Sunday and the parishioners going in, well behaved, well dressed, so lovely. Now they have services in Korean! Can you imagine? And Spanish too!” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 60

“Sometimes these Mexicans will dump a sofa right on the sidewalk. They don’t respect the city,” she said.

George nodded in agreement.

“Our buildings are changing. With the fair housing laws, you can’t discriminate. It sounds good on paper. But think of who you have to let into the property to obey the law,” he said.

“I have a few friends in my school from China and even

Vietnam,” Ed said.

“Oh, heavens. In Pasadena?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 61

“When my family bought these buildings, the city was all white. You had some colored people, but we didn’t buy down in their area. This is why I think I need to unload some of my buildings because, unfortunately, when the minorities take over the rents go down, the streets get dirty, the schools get bad, the crime goes up. It’s a shame really,” George said.

Miss Prescott stood up and walked over to the radio and picked up a photograph of a WWII soldier in uniform.

She brought it over to George.

“He was killed at Pearl Harbor. My sister’s son Luke

Caldwell. She and her husband suffered the loss so dearly.

And I never forget it either. The Japs. They came out of the sky and dropped their bombs on Pearl Harbor,” she said.

George and Ed stood up. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 62

“We thank you so much, as always, for your graciousness. And you have my eternal appreciation for keeping an eye on this property and the way you look after it. Everyone who lives here is lucky to have such a loving, caring woman in charge,” he said.

“Oh, thank you Mr. Gilmore. You are the real Los

Angeles. You are what this city is supposed to be! Bless you and your family,” she said as she ushered them out.

Then she walked into the hall, unexpectedly, abruptly.

She pointed her finger at George.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 63

“Oh, the hell with all of them! I don’t distinguish between any of the yellow races! We beat them but what for?

Now we live in a foreign city. I used to eat Chop Suey and

Egg Foo Young on Wilshire and all the customers were white and only the owner and his waiters were Chinamen. Now there is hardly a white face anywhere and everything is Korean,

Chinese, or Mexican. God, I hate it! If I had known this was what life would be in 1978, I would have ended it in

1945. How could I know that our future, our California, our

America, would be Chinese? That our future is Chinese?

That’s what we have to accept. They conquered us. Now we work for them!”

“Really I am not so mean and hateful. I was raised a

Christian. I believe in God. I try to make sense of what is all around me, but I can’t. And I was a teacher. I never discriminated. All the children were equal in my eyes, black, white, yellow. I had some Negro children too. Just as smart and clever as can be. They were lovely. I love kids. And I wish I had some of my own. But I never married.

My life is what it is. Good night gentlemen,” she said as she walked away.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 64

George and Ed drove off and never mentioned the incident.

Chinatown

Chinatown was an old and motley collection of rundown bachelor hotels, small shops and restaurants.

The 101 Freeway cut a horizontal gash through the southern end of the district, and the 110 sliced it vertically, marooning Chinatown from downtown, isolating it from other parts of Los Angeles.

The bullying mass of Dodger Stadium occupied the northwestern end, and the decaying industrial buildings and train tracks ate up the northeast.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 65

It was a smoggy, treeless, poor and forgotten ghetto of old men and trinkets, courtyard temples and concrete, scraps of urban civilization existing within an indifferent city.

George owned a one-story building on Temple Street. It had three shops: camera repair, screen and sash window repair, and Wang Bang Hair Celebration.

Tony Wang, Hong Kong born, late 20s and gay, owned the salon.

For small investors, like George Gilmore, owning some inexpensive buildings here was akin to investing in penny stocks, risking very little and hoping for a better payoff in the near or far future.

George knew nobody in Chinatown other than his tenants. Which made his forays and adventures here more alluring.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 66

He liked the furtive and private adventure of coming down here, especially when he visited Tony, a hard worker and a creative man, a stylist who moved to the disco beat, muscled his way around his salon, using his sex appeal and his charm to fill seats and bring George closer.

George brought Ed here to show his son how one went about managing properties, how ultimately it all came down to collecting rents from people and making a business out of it. The boy was unaware of his father’s proclivities, of the physical connection between the landlord and the tenant.

They parked on the street in front of the shop on

Temple Street, a part of town where there were few cars because the people who lived around there didn’t own any.

Tony emerged from the shop in light blue denim jeans and a tight white knit polo. He came over to the vehicle and stuck his head in the car where Ed sat.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 67

“Hello Gentlemen! Here is the rent. Who is this handsome boy?” he asked.

George took the envelope and put it into the glove compartment.

“Ed, say hello to Mr. Wang,” George said.

Tony extended his hand.

“You look just like your father. Do you know that?” he said.

“People tell me,” Ed said.

“Are you on your way home or do you have time to come in and maybe we can get some dinner?” Tony asked.

“Oh, I’m afraid not. It’s been a long day for both of us. His mom expects us soon,” George said.

“Next week then. You call me and we meet up soon! I have business to discuss!”

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 68

On the way home, on the 110, Ed asked if Tony were homosexual.

George told him that he didn’t know. And if Tony were a homosexual it was his own business and he did not want to hear that question again.

The Luncheon

The Pacific Asia Museum, at 46 N Los Robles Ave,

Pasadena, was an eccentric building constructed in the

1920s in the style of an old Chinese palace. It had a green tile roof and jutting wings of flying forms. Through a central archway, flanked by carved lions, one entered a courtyard landscaped with water, trees, benches, flowers and string lights.

The institution had a fine collection of Asian paintings, carvings, ceramics and textiles, from Japan,

China, Korea and the Pacific Islands. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 69

Edna volunteered there.

Though she ostensibly was drawn there by her interest in Chinese ceramics, versions of which she collected, her real motivation was meeting people.

Pasadena was lonely.

Her dry, infertile marriage, without love or passion, left her starved for intimacy. Her husband conducted his daily life under a scrim of secrecy, locking up his secrets inside his silences, or in secure drawers.

She hadn’t a single true, close friend. And so, she came to the museum hoping to find one. Instead she found two new associations and one new friend.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 70

The precipitating event was when she volunteered to work at “The Oriental Smorgasbord”, held in late October

1978. It was a demonstration of Asian cooking laid out in the courtyard with the assistance of three other women:

Ginger Nordquist, Harriet Stevenson, and Norma Loh.

Mrs. Gilbert Nordquist, or Ginger, was the wife of the

Sunkist West Coast CFO. She was a tall, 50-year-old woman from Minneapolis whose broad shoulders and blue eyes resembled the television cook Julia Child.

Harriet Stevenson, formerly Harriet McCarthy of

Kenilworth, IL, was the wife of Edgar Stevenson, President of the First Sierra Madre Bank.

Sunkist and First Sierra Madre Bank were the sponsors of the Oriental Smorgasbord event, which aimed to introduce

Asian foods and culture to Pasadena and induce the public to join the museum.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 71

That these women, working here on that day, had no expertise in Asian cuisine was of no importance to the museum.

Edna was in charge of decorations and had picked out a blue and white scheme with plates, baby blue napkins, blue glasses, blue delphiniums, white balloons and white paper dragons hung from strings strung across the courtyard.

The lone Asian woman in the group was a shy, thin, regal lady in her late 30s who wore a white cardigan over a baby blue cotton skirt. Her smooth black hair was tied back into a ponytail that galloped behind her head.

Her name was Norma Loh. Rumor had it she was born in

Hong Kong and lived here in Pasadena with her physician husband and little girl.

Norma spoke little. Her movements were purposeful.

When she walked, she went quickly, looking straight ahead, hardly engaging with the others. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 72

She was there to lead a demonstration of Oriental vegetable carving and had made daikon into birds and carrots into butterflies, and put out two sauces for dipping, Japanese and Chinese.

There were also dainty quail egg canapes, bread triangles with cucumber slices, quail eggs and strips of ham. The recipes were given to her by museum staff and had no connection to anything she had eaten back in Hong Kong.

Most popular were the sugary, deep-fried, Won Ton Bow

Ties.

Ginger was like an intoxicated linebacker in high heels. She attempted to pick up a wonton with chopsticks and dropped it on the ground. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 73

“Oh, heck! Excuse me ladies! I don’t know how to use these!” she said.

“Pick it up with your hands. I ate them with that way in Hong Kong,” Norma said.

Edna heard the melodic words Hong Kong and went to introduce herself.

“Hong Kong?” she asked.

“Yes. I was born there. But I’ve been in the US 10 years and I’m a proud US citizen,” Norma said.

“You are a remarkable cook. I suppose you are an expert,” Edna said.

Norma leaned over and whispered. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing! I just make what they asked me to.”

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 74

The confession amused Edna and she burst out laughing.

She was happy to find someone seemingly authentic in the midst of the ersatz Asian event.

“They think I’m trained for this because I look the part. Oh, let’s get the Oriental girl and put her at this table and have her cook. I’m an actress here. I didn’t even have to audition for it. Typecast!” Norma said.

Later in the afternoon, the women manned the tables.

And then Gilbert Nordquist arrived. He was red-faced, tall and rotund, in orange golf shirt and green slacks. He inspected the foods and complimented the ladies. He hugged

Norma.

“Her husband saved my life! How are you my little dear? She is just like a little Chinese doll. Look at her!” he said.

“How come you can’t wear a hat and put on sunblock like you’re supposed to?” Ginger asked her sun-burned husband. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 75

“Because the sun shines on the golf course and if I have to give up golf to avoid the sun I’d rather get burned,” he said.

“Stupid man. You’ll get skin cancer. Why can’t you use common sense?” Ginger asked.

“Why you can’t be a sweet, little, lovely Chinese lady like this gal?” he said as he rubbed Norma’s shoulder with intrusive familiarity.

“Excuse me. I need to use the washroom,” Norma said.

Ginger looked at her husband and shook her head.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 76

Carved carrot in hand, Harriet stood next to Edna and bit into the vegetable. She threw the half-bitten vegetable into a fountain. “Don’t like this. I can’t even pretend to,” she said.

Strangers wandered in an out of the courtyard, men in shorts and sneakers, women with shopping bags and tired children. They walked along the tables and sampled the foods, not quite happily, but dutifully. There were less people than expected and the garden emptied out fast. Then it was time to clean up, and the trays of uneaten foods were dumped into trashcans.

Ginger, Harriet and Edna stood in the sunny center of the courtyard where the western rays from the afternoon sun still burned.

Norma stood alone in a shady corner.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 77

Edna walked over to Norma.

“Have you seen Love is a Many Splendored Thing with

William Holden and Jennifer Jones? It was always a favorite movie of mine,” Edna said.

“She wasn’t Chinese. She wasn’t even a bit Chinese.

They cast a white woman as one of us. And they filmed most of it in a studio,” Norma answered.

“Really? Oh, of course. Jennifer Jones was not Chinese at all. Did I say something wrong?” Edna asked.

“You didn’t offend me. I actually know you, but you don’t know me. My daughter and I walk past your house quite often. We live down the street from you. Your garden is magnificent,” Norma said.

“What a small world. Please stop by and knock at the door anytime. Do you work?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 78

“Housewife now, but next year I plan to get my license and sell real estate. My husband works at the hospital, all hours, and it’s just me and my daughter Lesley. I can use the company. Do you have kids?” Norma said.

“Two sons, Ed and Rory. My husband George owns and manages property. So, it’s an exciting life. I joke. We are all bored in Pasadena,” Edna said.

“That explains why you and I ended up here at this event,” Norma said.

Edna shook Norma’s hands. Something connected between them.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 79

The New Friend

Norma began to drop by Edna’s home.

At first, she knocked formally, on the front door.

Then after a few visits she went around to the side door, next to the kitchen, eventually entering the house without even knocking.

Sometimes she came with 11-year-old Lesley in hand, a quiet, dark haired girl in braids who dressed in striped boys’ t-shirts and jeans and had a tomboy bravado.

Edna and Norma would walk outside with Rory and Lesley and go down into the path in the Arroyo Seco park under the trees that went along the concrete river.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 80

On hot and smoggy days, the cool oaks and plants on the hills along the river provided a shady, refreshing walk, a meandering exploration, far from the tumult of traffic.

Edna was guardedly more cautious as a parent with

Rory, afraid he might wander off or go up to the bridge.

Norma, by contrast, let Lesley out-of-sight and seemed to have less worries about the safety of her child.

“Let your children explore. How else can they learn?”

Norma advised.

Norma had a street toughness under her, an urban survivalist way, coarser and harder, than Edna.

In that dense, packed, poorer city of Hong Kong where war and occupation gave way to peace and occupation, the residents were used to fighting for every piece of life and survival: food, housing, grades, positions, jobs, and money. People yelled, argued, fought.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 81

Nothing ever came easily in Hong Kong.

Norma was reared in that battleground and schooled in that teeming colony of strivers. “I’m not a fucking wallflower. I look delicate but I can fight when I have to,” she said.

The delicate lady with her tiny waist, flowered blouses and black sandals had a gutter mouth.

On the path that crossed under the Colorado Street

Bridge, as Rory and Lesley ran ahead out of earshot Norma told Edna, “I’m a god-damned, shitty mother.”

“Why? Why would you say that? Your daughter is polite, well behaved, a good student,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 82

“Everything her mom is not. There are inherited characteristics which a mother has no control over. My mother never punished me. She never said a cross word to me. But I was terrified of her. So, I raise my kid with loose rules. She does everything on her own initiative. She rides her bike alone here at night! She goes out and gets lost and then she’s back in time for dinner. That is a shitty mother. I don’t worry. Am I bad?” Norma said.

“I never let Rory go into this park at night. I don’t think that is wise. And you have a girl. That is tempting fate. But don’t call yourself a shitty mother,” Edna said.

They walked to a stream where the children were laughing and walking over wet rocks, inches above the waterline.

“Your son is a good boy too,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 83

“His father doesn’t think so. He is always on him for something. In our house Ed is the good boy. And Rory is the bad one. At least according to my husband,” Edna said.

“The black dog gets the food and the white dog is blamed and gets the punishment. Something I learned from my grandmother. The innocent suffer but the guilty get away with it,” Norma said.

Rory ran up to Edna throwing his arms around her.

“I’m hungry. Can we go back home?” he asked.

“What about Lesley? Does she want to go back? Maybe she is enjoying herself. Ask her,” Edna said.

Rory ran back to the stream to confer with the girl.

“Your son looks like you,” Norma said.

“I know. It scares me,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 84

“Let’s go back to the house. We can eat some fresh strawberries with vanilla ice cream. Do you like strawberries and ice cream?” Edna asked.

“Yes, that sounds good. I have a weakness for red things. Strawberries, tomatoes, valentines,” Norma said.

The women walked as the children ran ahead.

“Rory, Lesley, don’t go too far. Let us catch up!”

Edna yelled.

The Key

George and Ed, father and son, sat on the dark burgundy leather tufted sofa.

It was late afternoon, a cool and rainy day. The house smelled of beef stew and all the lights were turned off.

The rooms were illuminated dimly and naturally, quietly.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 85

George spoke in a low and discreet tone.

“Here is my study room key. I’m entrusting it to you.

I have two keys, one is in my possession and the other is yours,” George said handing Ed a brass key looped with a leather tassel.

“If you have any reason to get into the desk this is how you will do it. But please, under no circumstances, other than my incapacitation or death, go into the files,”

George said.

Ed was now the co-keeper of a secret place. His father had handed him a grave and solemn responsibility.

He was 11.

“Should I tell Mom or Rory?” Ed asked.

“No. Absolutely not. Please keep this matter private,”

George said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 86

“Dad, what’s in the files? Can I know that at least?”

Ed asked.

“Financial statements, bonds, stock certificates, family documents, property records, and some private books in which I write down names, phone numbers and information which I do not want your mother to know about,” George said.

“Wow. Why not? She’s your wife!” Ed said.

“She’s also a woman. Women will talk. They don’t keep things private. A son who will inherit a business is much more trustworthy than a wife. You have a reason to keep me happy. Your mother? Who knows? One day she may up and leave. Or we might separate even divorce. Or she could move back to Boston. Legally she has rights too, which are don’t agree with but these unfortunately are modern times. She could demand to see everything I have in that desk,” George said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 87

Succinctly, without mercy, quite callously, this father burdened his son with very adult matters.

A headache hit George.

“Dad, you OK?” Ed asked.

“Yes. It’s those headaches I get. Blinding flashes of light, head splitting. I think the smog brings them on.

Let’s wrap this up,” George said.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” Ed said as he walked out.

“Yes. Thank you, son. Please keep our talk private,”

George said.

He closed the shutters on the library windows, wrapped himself in a blanket, laid down on the sofa in a fetal position, and waited for the headache and the ocular blindness to subside.

If only he could drive down to Tommy in Chinatown for a massage. But he couldn’t see well enough to drive a car.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 88

Near dinnertime, Edna knocked on the door. She opened it slowly and found him asleep. She gently pulled the blanket up to cover him.

She stood. She watched him sleep. She wondered if she still cared for him for love or duty or custom.

She left the room. George stayed on the couch and slept in his office through the night.

The next morning, after he showered and put on his khakis and white dress shirt, he went into the kitchen.

Norma was there, drinking coffee with Edna.

“Oh, hello. I hope we didn’t wake you,” Edna said.

“Probably me and my loud voice,” Norma said.

“George meet Norma. Norma, my husband George,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 89

“Hello. Nice to meet you. My wife has spoken highly of you. You are prettier than I imagined,” he said.

“Thank you,” Norma said.

They shook hands. And George stumbled to the sink and turned on the cold water and washed his hands, throwing some on his face.

“Wow. I just collapsed last night. I had the worst headache. I think it’s all the smog,” he said.

“My husband is a doctor at Huntington Hospital. He said there were many people who came in yesterday with asthma, headaches and breathing problems,” Norma said.

“Oriental doctors are the best. Where are you from

Norma?” he asked.

“Hong Kong. We’re both are from there. But we’re

American citizens now,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 90

George poured a coffee and tore open two packets of sugar and stirred.

“No cream dear. I have to go to Hughes Market later,”

Edna said.

“I can’t drink coffee without cream,” he said.

“My fault,” Edna said.

“I’m very bad in the morning without coffee. You’re seeing me with my morning temper. Please excuse me ladies.

Hope to see you again!” he said.

He walked down the hall. A door slammed.

Edna looked at Norma and they exchanged an acknowledgement transmittable only through its silence.

Deloz Avenue Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 91

A bi-level home on a winding, high elevation street in

Silver Lake. Vaulted ceilings, outdoor terrace, views of the city lights.

Tony Wang’s new home. Cousin Norma came to see it for the first time.

“Here is the Living Room. Here is that gorgeous view I adore, at sunset, standing out on the terrace with a glass of wine in hand. Of course, I’m never here when it’s light.

I come in at dark and collapse on the sofa,” Tony said.

“You are doing us proud. Grandmother would cry to see this. Think of her in Sheung Wan, her stinking chamber pot in the wood cupboard, Morris, the black cat, who sat on the stove near her teapot and got his whiskers burned. All of us packed into two rooms, sleeping on the floor, suffocating in the summer heat,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 92

Her recollections were a contrast to where she stood now in a residence of space and opulence.

“I miss the typhoons, and the humid days and the downpours and the street life, so much life outside, so much good food. But I hate everything else from there,”

Tony said.

He was short and well-built with fragrant, long, black hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore tight knit shirts and low-cut denim that accentuated his athletic body.

Naïve and well-meaning relatives called Tony a lady’s man and thought he roamed Hollywood as magnet for rich and gorgeous women who took care of his every need.

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Norma knew better. She could not quite bring herself to say the word “homosexual”, but she knew it was his way.

She thought instead of his accomplishments, talking to others about his success in business, and now his startlingly luxurious home. There were great public relations memos to say about Tony, and no need to delve into anything gay.

Helping keep his closet shut, cousin Tony never discussed his sexuality with his family, including Norma.

He talked of money and property: two winning subjects.

He walked her into the master bedroom and bath where he showed off his sunken bathtub. There was a large king- sized bed and fur pillows in brown, black, yellow and white. A silk quilted bedspread lent an air of slick sensuality. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 94

He walked her into the hall bathroom, showing off his new, brown, porcelain toilet.

The size of the house was exaggerated by the fact that only one person lived here. And again, the comparison to the crowded, small, impoverished flat in Hong Kong was always present in their minds.

“I bought this for 129K! Can you believe it? What lucky numbers did I have in life? I was born on April 4th! A bad day on the calendar! Somehow, I lucked out. But I am not suspicious. Not one thing in the house is Chinese! I banished all of it. I hate anything from China!” he said.

They went into the sparse, white, open kitchen where he poured two glasses of cold Chablis. They toasted, clinking glasses.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 95

Norma was happy for her cousin’s success as it forecast success for her, for their family. She saw the purchase of a house as the foundation of citizenship.

“You like houses you should sell houses,” Tony said.

“You must be a mind reader. I have plans to get a license and go into business. I think I can be successful,” she said.

“Of course, you’re going to succeed. What other choice is there?” he asked.

She looked at her watch. “I should go back. I haven’t made dinner,” she said.

“I’m so rude. What can I get you?” he asked.

“Don’t worry. I ate plenty. I’m fat. Nearly 120 pounds,” she said, squeezing her tummy.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 96

“How old you are now? 35?” he asked.

“Almost 40, a middle-aged woman. Time to wear a flowered shirt, loose trousers and tie my hair in a bun,” she joked.

A bamboo cane hung next to the refrigerator. Norma eyed it and went over to pick it up.

“You said no Chinese things. Didn’t Second Uncle Kim keep this in his school?” she asked.

His face went sad. He walked out of the kitchen with his wine and went into the living room to stare out the window at the steep, narrow street and the dim light that hung around after the sun had gone down. Cars with headlights crawled up the road, and somewhere in the distance many thousands of lights were turned on into infinity.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 97

“Chinese New Year in the middle 1950s. You and I were playing in the kitchen and you let the chicken walk out the door. And it fell off the fifth-floor balcony and dropped down to the street and died. Grandmother, father, uncles, aunties, they all ran downstairs to the street and they picked up the dead bird. Stuffed it into a paper bag, carried it back up the stairs. Then back up to the kitchen.

Grandmother chopped its neck with her great big cleaver.

Drained the blood in the sink. But they weren’t finished.

Uncle grabbed my head, pulled my hair and dragged me into the back room and took me and threw me onto the bed and whacked me hard, maybe four or five times with that cane. I was crying, screaming. He said I was a little crybaby, a little girl. You were the one who let the chicken out of the cage. I got punished for your misdeed. So, I keep that cane here to remember what those loving people did. How they mistreated me,” he said.

“Yes, but you were also loved, and many people worked hard to give you food, to send you to America, don’t forget that!” she said.

“You and Vince bought me my plane ticket,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 98

“You made me hungry for Har Now Dumplings and Char Sui

Buns. And golden steamed sponge cake. I try and forget the mean and the nasty times. You are doing well with your salon. Isn’t that how you get revenge by making good? You win by winning!” she said.

She patted him on the shoulder, to impart morale and courage.

Now he was crying. His face was in his hands. She went over to rub his shoulders.

“What is troubling you?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just happy. I cry because I am lucky.

You better go now. Your husband is waiting,” he said.

“You must come for dinner soon,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 99

She shook his hand and they walked to the front door.

“You are family don’t forget that!” she said.

She slipped into her shoes, walked out and went down the stairs to her car parked downhill.

He went back in, walked out to the elevated terrace and wove to her as she drove off.

He paused on the deck, alone, in silence, to think in the night air.

He dreamt up an imaginary conversation with Norma.

“You will think I’m shameful. A man comes to see my sometimes. He’s married. A good-looking, white man from

Pasadena. He is rich, and he has lots of properties, and he owns the building where I rent my salon. So, I give him massages. And then it becomes more. He comes by every few weeks. We are doing everything like I was his wife,” he said.

“You are OK. You need love. Maybe you found it with him,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 100

In his invented dialogue, she supported him, she understood him and he could tell her anything.

“Nobody wants an Asian man. They think I’m entertaining. I’m cute, like a, what, Siamese Kitten? But no matter how rich, how many celebrities come to me, I can’t get a good lover,” he said.

“Tony we are always family. Don’t forget it,” she said.

He walked back into this house.

Thus, ended his daydream and the realization that he could never be fully honest with his family. He had to continue living a secret life to avoid shame and rejection.

Invitation to Dinner

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Growing up in Hong Kong, Norma’s family did not invite non-family members over to their tiny and overcrowded flat.

Even when they moved to a bigger flat, with an additional room, the unspoken rule was no friends. That was the rule and that was normal. But America was different.

Norma now lived in a three-bedroom house. And she wanted her daughter to feel comfortable and invite friends over.

One afternoon, as Lesley sat at the kitchen table doing homework Norma spoke.

“Should we invite Rory to come over one upcoming night for dinner?” she asked.

“You are so weird Mom. And he’s weird. I don’t care.

Do what you want,” Lesley said.

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“I want you to have friends. You say you don’t like to play with girls, so I thought Rory would be a nice dinner guest,” Norma said.

“Fine. I hope he likes your cooking,” Lesley said.

“Do you think he’ll eat Cantonese food?” Norma asked.

“Your food isn’t real Cantonese. It’s chicken sticks in soy sauce, or frozen fish in soy sauce, or Uncle Ben’s rice with vegetables and soy sauce. Ice cream and cookies,”

Lesley said.

“You’re lucky you have enough to eat. Invite him over.

I think his mother will appreciate it. It will make us both look good,” Norma said.

The Man Who Set His Car Afire

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 103

Edna drove east along Colorado Blvd, approaching

Allen, into a scene of flashing red lights, police, ambulance and fire engines. A Pontiac Catalina was on fire.

Black smoke poured out of the passenger compartment. A crowd watched from the opposite side of the street.

A cop directed traffic away from the stricken car.

Edna watched firemen knock out the driver’s window and pull a blackened and injured man out. He was still able to stand despite his injuries.

The victim, a middle-aged Asian man was burned, and his shirt was torn open, there were bleeding cuts on his chest, he was delirious and he cried out.

“Just let me die! Just let me die!” he yelled.

The victim was laid down on a stretcher and wheeled into an ambulance.

The Los Angeles Times wrote a story about that man in the burning car. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 104

He had set his vehicle on fire in a botched suicide attempt. He was a 44-year-old immigrant from Vietnam. He had come to California after the fall of Saigon. He had two children and a wife, and he was despondent about work, money, and his marriage.

Edna read about him. The local news broadcast the story. She felt sorrow and grief for his pain.

The story was on the 10 pm news as Edna and George lay in bed watching.

“That’s the Oriental man in the accident?” he asked drolly.

His tone was absent empathy.

“They got him out alive. Risked their lives to save his,” George said.

“He wanted to die,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 105

“They come here, and we provide everything for them, and they still can’t handle it,” he said.

“We destroyed their country in a war. Agent Orange, bombs, massacres. We defoliated their forests, we killed women and children,” she said.

“And they would have gone Communist without our help!

Our boys went there to save them. 58,000 Americans died,” he said.

“They are Communist! Now the whole country is red,” she said.

“Let them all die. Destroying our country and our city,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 106

“A man is so sad, so desperate, so low that he wants to end his life and you make a statement of white supremacy,” she said.

“You and Boston liberalism. You and your liberal schools, you and your an abolitionist ancestors! Don’t you know right from wrong? Where do you get your radicalism?” he thundered as he pontificated atop his propped-up pillows.

“You don’t know what agony this man was in. He tried to kill himself inside a burning car. What kind of position in life was he in to feel so low? What humanity do you lack that you can’t even feel for his suffering? You have every privilege on Earth. Yet you act as if you are Horatio

Alger!” she said.

“You’re so proud that Margaret Sanger was your cousin.

Don’t you realize that when all these minorities get into power that it’s people like us who will be cast aside? We will become their servants! Can you imagine our little Ed or Rory working as janitors for some Oriental family?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 107

She stayed silent. He was rabid and vicious. There was no argument or logic to dissuade him.

Only silence ended his tirade.

Chicken with Ginger and Garlic

Lesley and Rory sat at the kitchen table as Norma prepared dinner.

Rory watched Norma. She took raw, cut up chicken marinated in oyster sauce, sliced chopped garlic, bok choy, mushrooms, diced scallions, she put oil in the wok then the garlic and ginger, mushrooms and chicken. She stirred fast, the smoke and the aroma filled the kitchen. Then finally she poured chicken stock thickened with cornstarch in and stirred more.

She had a clay pot of rice, and she scooped out some and put it on a plate, and then covered it with the chicken from the wok and brought it to Rory.

“You eat like this every night?” Rory asked Lesley.

“Pretty much. I eat what she cooks,” Lesley said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 108

The children drank iced tea and ate quietly. Rory had the self-conscious feeling of being a guest and he held his fork properly, had his napkin in his lap, he sat straight at table with his elbows off as his mother had instructed him so many times before.

Norma refilled their glasses. She picked up the children’s plates and brought them to the stove. She scooped more rice and chicken out brought the second helpings back to the table.

She sat down with her own small bowl of rice and chicken. She ate with chopsticks as Rory watched.

“I want to learn how to use those!” Rory said.

Dr. Yue came home. He kissed his wife and daughter and went to the sink to thoroughly wash his hands with soap and hot water. He dried them off and then went to say hello to

Rory. He took a seat at the table as Norma rose up to serve him.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 109

“I imagine you enjoy dinner with your family every night,” Dr. Yue asked.

“Not at all. My mom eats with my brother and me. And then my dad comes home from work and he takes his dinner alone, in his office,” Rory said.

Norma looked at her Vince. Rory’s honest confession saddened them.

Wang Bang Days

“When you’re poor they condemn your race. When you are rich, they praise your character,” Tony said.

Tony Wang sat in his after-work studio with his friend, the actress Farrah Fawcett.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 110

She sat in a barber chair, near the shaded back of the salon, beyond the rays of the sun, and the gaze of the passerby.

A vanilla candle burned fragrant gentle light and brought intimacy to these two single friends.

She was curled up, shoeless, in an off-shoulder white cotton sweater and flower print trousers. She drank a glass of iced water tabbed by lemon slice.

Her slender, artistic hands were smooth, her nails perfect and polished, her eyes were mesmerizing and vulnerable, when she moved, she moved with light balletic gestures, her femininity graced her essence.

A floor fan on low blew warm air across the room, across the flames of the candles, across her famous face.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 111

The obscure wine and the famous woman combusted into an atmosphere scented and intoxicated yet foreshadowed by an impending gloom.

“I don’t know. I’ve only been a white girl, and nobody ever condemns white girls, especially cheerleaders. The only one who ever said bad things about me, was me,” Farrah said.

“You’re lucky then. You are loved for who you are. And

I can never be loved for who I am. I have to love myself.

And that ain’t easy,” Tony said.

The blonde-haired actress was 31 years old and at the peak of her fame after “Charlie’s Angels” which she had just quit to pursue films.

Her tousled, feathered, smiling, gorgeous face hung in every teenage boy’s bedroom. She was the mass-produced, product fantasy ideal of every single woman loving person. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 112

But she was insecure and frightened. She came to Tony for solitude and support.

“You are the wise, trustworthy man in my life. I’m surrounded by jackals as you know,” she said.

“Last week I had another fight with Lee. Something stupid. It’s always something stupid. What the fuck is wrong with men?” she asked.

“When you find out let me know,” Tony said.

“I left Charlie’s Angels because they promised me a bigger career on the big screen. And that’s falling apart.

My marriage is over. Everything is crumbling. But the world thinks my teeth and my hair are wonderful. Isn’t that magnificent? Just a little girl from Texas living the

Hollywood dream!” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 113

Tony stood up and went over to a counter to get a bottle of Anaïs Anaïs by Cacharel. “Try this.”

She closed her eyes and extended her right arm out as

Tony sprayed lightly.

“Honeysuckle and Texas, grannie’s house, iced tea on the porch, my hair just washed and drying out in the sun, the wind blowing the clouds across the sky. You can see forever and the future goes on forever. H I wish I were back there again. Can I just get out of this town? Go back to where I was truly happy?” she asked.

“Did this little bottle do all that for you?” he asked.

“I guess,” she answered.

“Then here. It’s my present for you. Take it along and go out with a dream,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 114

Moral Defender

Miss Prescott had installed new window air- conditioners in six apartments, and she asked George to come by with a bank check for the electrician.

That was her ostensible reason. But she also wanted to tell George, while he was here, about a male tenant with overnight guests.

“It’s not something I would ordinarily talk about. Mr.

Lindley, lovely older man. He’s lived here for 7 years. I think he’s from Iowa. Lifelong bachelor. Worked at Fox in costume design. He’s an avid birdwatcher. He goes to

Elysian Park with his group. And he pays his rent-on time too. No problems with him,” she said.

Her expression was leading into something else. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 115

George rolled his eyes. He expected an upcoming denouement.

“Where is this going?” George asked.

“I don’t only guard your building against crime and neglect, but I think of myself as a staunch moral defender.

I won’t tolerate behavior that degrades your property Mr.

Gilmore,” she said.

“Is Mr. Lindley degrading my property?” George asked.

“He has guests. Sometimes they spend the night with him. And I don’t ask questions. But it can be quite a collection of characters who come in and out of his unit,” she said.

“Do you mean men?” George asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 116

“Yes. I never hear any complaints from other neighbors. And he is a very polite, respectful gentleman,” she said.

“Perfect. No problem with him,” George said, eager to end the unveiling.

“But I keep communications with the commander of the

LAPD Rampart Division, and they have a vice unit. I’m tempted to see if this Mr. Lindley situation warrants calling the vice people to raid his apartment. Do you think so?” she asked.

“Absolutely not! Not at all,” George answered.

“Oh, I thought that…” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 117

“No. Don’t call the police for that. It’s a waste of time. And it doesn’t involve drugs, or prostitutes. If it’s an old man who needs company, just leave him alone,” George said.

He gave Miss Prescott the check for the electrician.

He was put off by her investigation. Annoyed that she brought it up.

“So that’s the end of that,” she said.

“Exactly. Private things that don’t affect other tenants are tolerable,” he said.

“I’m surprised at your reaction, but I will abide by your wishes,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 118

Chink

The front lawn of the Yue Home had a badminton net. On one side of the net, racquets in hand, were Rory and Ed and they faced off against Lesley.

She had a kind of bravado and confidence that irked

Ed. He resented her perfectionism, her smarts, her athleticism and her toughness. And Ed found it irritating that it was all combined in this tough Oriental. Even here, at Badminton, she thought she could play against two boys and win.

There was a rivalry between Ed and Lesley, but he was not going to defeat her scholastically or athletically or fairly. He needed to bring her down a notch. He just wasn’t sure how.

When she swung her racquet to hit a shuttlecock across the net and Ed couldn’t return it, she laughed. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 119

He threw his racquet down on the ground, picked up his bike and got on it and rode down the driveway with his middle finger up in the air. He pedaled down to the curb, onto the street, and turned back to the Lesley and screamed loud.

“Fucking chink!” Ed yelled. He rode off and left Rory and Lesley behind.

She turned on the spigot to a garden hose.

“Your brother is an idiot. Do you want some water?” she asked Rory.

She turned the nozzle to fine spray and held it up in the air and let the cool water rain down on them both.

They started laughing under it. “Let’s go in back,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 120

They sat on a weight bench aside a pile of iron barbells under the patio shade.

“My father’s. He is very strong. He can lift a lot.

Your brother just better watch his step. My father will come after him,” Lesley said.

“Is your dad like Bruce Lee?” Rory asked.

“He is better than Bruce Lee. My father is not only strong but he’s a doctor too. People respect him. Some fear him too,” she said.

“I wish I had a father that was like yours,” Rory said.

“Your dad is all right,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 121

“He sucks. I have nightmares sometimes. And my mother comes into the room, but my father never does. When I fall down, he never cares. If I do something good, he doesn’t care. He blames me for things I don’t even do. He thinks Ed is perfect. And I’m trouble,” Rory said.

Rory told his mother that Ed had called Lesley a chink.

Edna was furious. She pulled Ed into the kitchen and sat him down at the table, alongside Rory and asked if the

“chink” story were true.

“Yes. I did,” Ed confessed.

Edna slapped him.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 122

“How dare you insult our friends. What gives you the right to say that very ugly word? Tomorrow you’ll go over there and apologize,” Edna said.

“This is the kind of behavior I would expect from a mean, rotten person. I thought you were better,” she said.

The next day Ed apologized.

But he was acting externally.

Inside he was unchanged and unconvinced that he had really done anything wrong. He was just standing up for his own kind. His apology was just to smooth over his mother’s embarrassment and appease her.

The Blonde Incidents

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 123

All over the world, women’s hair, from 1977-79, was

Farrah Fawcett’s hair.

Feathered, dishwater blonde with turned back curls framing the face, was the style of the late 1970s, egregious, sexy, glamorous, a hairstyle for every woman who aspired to modernity, femininity and sexual freedom.

The originator of the look was Tony Wang, yet he would claim no credit for it. He cut Farrah’s hair in her house, and she paid him $250. The haircut was a hit.

Later she paid him $25,000 and asked him to keep quiet about originating it. He agreed out of friendship, loyalty and fear. He was lucky to have her as a client. And he feared an enemy named Farrah.

He kept so many things to himself: his sexuality, his authorship of Farrah’s hair, their close friendship.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 124

He was also having an affair with his landlord, a sexual encounter that went on for a few years, in the back of the hair salon, after dark, when the streets of

Chinatown were empty, and his friend could slip in through the back door to fool around undetected.

Tony wanted to be open to the world about his buried life. But his survival was governed by secrets.

He carried a great shame along with his great American liberation. He was, at heart, a hard-working man from Hong

Kong: self-reliant, a fighter, a skilled craftsman and an unrecognized international notable.

If he came out as Farrah’s hair stylist, he risked destroying his salon and ruining his burgeoning powerful connections in Hollywood.

Farrah and George were everything to him and everything that nobody could know. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 125

The Party at the Norton Simon

In the midst of Tony’s salon expansion, as his clientele grew, he hired new stylists. Hollywood was there but he could not use Farrah to find other clients. He had to be deviously clever and find other entrees into wealth and power.

Tony learned that actress Jennifer Jones, wife of multi-millionaire Norton Simon, was planning a large party, a benefit for mental health, at the Norton Simon Museum in

Pasadena on Thursday, November 15, 1979.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 126

Jennifer Jones was a legend in Tony’s family. And one of considerable awe and mockery. The stories he heard of how she behaved in 1954, while making “Love is a Many

Splendored Thing” in Hong Kong were retold many times. His aunt and uncle, Norma’s parents, considered the actress a notorious whore.

But Tony also admired her portrayal of a Eurasian doctor, Dr. Han Suyin, a character in love with a white

American who suffered bravely in the face of prejudice.

Jennifer Jones had a cinematic, historic and familial connection for him.

He was a little boy when the actress and her American film crew came to Hong Kong. His aunt and uncle, Norma’s parents, had a shop on Pottinger Street, a little place that sold and repaired timepieces, but also made clothing alterations and cleaned and pressed garments.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 127

The story he was told, was that one evening in 1954,

Jennifer Jones was walking alone at night, intoxicated during a rainstorm. A delivery truck drove past her and splashed mud on her pink silk floral cheongsam dress.

After the accident, which occurred right on Pottinger

Street in front of the Loh family store, Jennifer Jones rushed into uncle and auntie’s shop. She was immediately recognized and hurriedly assisted. They hid her behind curtains, with auntie undressing the actress, wrapping her in a towel, giving her warm tea, comforting her, bringing her almond cookies and sliced oranges, and resting her bare feet in a tin bowl of warm water, until the dress was cleaned and repaired.

In gratitude, a day later, a handwritten note on her stationary was brought to the shop, along with a basket of gorgeous peonies, and ten gold flowered paper giftwrapped boxes of ginseng.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 128

After the incident, his parents, who were not even at the shop of his aunt and uncle, spoke disparagingly of “a sexy actress out walking alone at night” and that “she smelled of alcohol” and “perhaps she was drunk when she got dirty.” They imagined she was on her way to a man’s hotel room. And they wondered why she was not staying in her room diligently studying her part for the next day’s filming.

There was another lesson to this story that stayed with Tony. He learned that other people, like his aunt and uncle, could denigrate reputation merely through implication.

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Jennifer Jones had come to Hong Kong as a star. She got in a jam, and she found help from Tony’s relatives.

Historically, creatively, emotionally the tale of the

Hollywood starlet walking into the little shop formed his first impression of the privileged imperatives of film stars.

The little boy in 1954 was a grown man in 1979. He could purchase a ticket to a party with the Hollywood elites given by Miss Jones herself. He relished his ascent.

The event for 800, would herald the formation of a foundation for mental health, and the guests would include

First Lady Rosalynn Carter and include Henry Fonda, Paul

Newman, Joanne Woodward, Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, and

Barbra Streisand.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 130

Edna also learned about the event from her friends.

And then she spoke about it to Norma who retold the tale of

Jennifer Jones and the Loh family and how Norma’s parents rescued the actress from mud and scandal.

Tickets were pricey, $150 a couple, but George told

Edna they should go. Huntington Hospital purchased 20 tickets for doctors and their wives, and one of the lucky recipients was Dr. Vincent Yue and Ms. Norma Loh.

Edna was enraptured. This was a dream.

Flying high, she was lifted into an airstream of impossibilities, carried along on a cloud of celebrities, swept up into the mythology of those whose profession was creating imaginary personas.

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Norma was excited too. She rarely went out. She was in disbelief that she, a poor girl from Hong Kong, would be attending a top drawer, Hollywood benefit. Carried in her too, was a dark resentment at the way her culture had been used by the movie “Love is a Many Splendored Thing” to cast a white woman, Jennifer Jones, as a part Asian, and how that same actress, off-screen, treated her parents as servants when she came off the street, out of the rain, into their shop and home, and demanded they help her.

Edna was eager to find a gorgeous gown. She elicited

Norma in a hunt for dresses that took them to Bullocks,

Saks Fifth Avenue and I. Magnin.

They also shopped locally, stopping off at a couple of boutiques on Lake Street in Pasadena. But both women, still younger than 40, came to the conclusion that San Gabriel

Valley style was too dowdy for Hollywood.

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Norma told Tony that she would also attend the gala.

He proposed something outlandish.

“Let me color your hair. I want to do you up like

Farrah Fawcett. You will be a gorgeous, sexy blonde woman, much blonder, much more gorgeous than any other woman at the party. Especially the bitchy, arrogant, stuck up white women. The whole museum will have their eyes on you. Let me do it! Let me transform you into Farrah!” he said.

It was not common for Asian woman to color their hair in obvious or theatrical ways. If any hue were applied it was done furtively, usually in dark brown or black to hide gray. Nobody with any decent reputation went blonde.

Norma sat in a chair and looked at her face in the mirror.

“It will kill the doctor. If his wife shows up as a fake blonde, I think he will be ashamed,” she said.

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“No! No! You underestimate him. Farrah is the most gorgeous woman in Hollywood and if he sees you as her understudy, he will think you are sexy too,” Tony said.

“Do you know her? I mean have you ever met Farrah?” she asked.

“Why do you ask? Of course not! Little Fèi chai nobody in Chinatown does not receive famous actresses coming into his shop, especially Ms. Farrah Fawcett!” he said.

“But as a hair stylist I look at every photograph of her,” he said holding up McCall’s Magazine, April 1979, with Farrah on the cover.

Norma waved the picture away. “Not me. I’m not sold on the blonde thing,” she said.

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“You disappoint me. Whatever happened to the little troublemaker who smoked, spit and said fuck when she felt like it? The one who took her top off in the darkened movie theater?” he asked.

“I don’t think I have the guts. But you know I have a friend, a white lady, she is already blonde, going gray, a sweet woman, maybe she will come down here with me and I will get her to go blonde like Farrah!” she said.

“Who?” Tony asked.

“Edna Gilmore,” Norma said.

“Gilmore should be your partner in crime. If she can go along with you then your husband will think it’s cute, not a rebellion against him,” Tony said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 135

Norma smiled and threw up her hands.

“Such a silly debate. You want me to do it. I’ll do it. Why shouldn’t I try it? Where is written that we

Asians can’t color our hair? I think Edna will agree. She is always talking about us as sisters. I’ll bring her back here with me,” Norma said.

“You changed your mind? Just like that?” he asked.

“You are my family. And you have my best interest in mind. You want me to look my best. It’s a great honor for our family too. When they ask me, who styled and colored my hair, the name Tony Wang will be spoken loudly at the

Norton Simon,” she said.

The Blonde Incidents

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Norma, Edna, Rory and Lesley rode on the bike path along the Arroyo Seco. The children had moved ahead on their little bikes, and were out of sight, a situation that distracted Edna.

Edna stood up with her feet on the pedals of her blue

Schwinn bike with the flowery white basket.

“You didn’t hear what I said. Will you come with me to get our hair styled like Farrah Fawcett?” Norma asked.

Edna still did not hear her friend. She was looking for children.

“I don’t see them,” Edna said.

“Oh, let them go ahead. Lesley is with him. I let her ride down here alone all the time. You can’t overprotect,”

Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 137

Edna pedaled faster engaging Norma to catch up. “I’m listening but I’m looking up the path and I don’t see our children,” Edna said.

Up ahead, under the bridge, there was a stream with large boulders.

Rory and Lesley had stopped there. They threw their bikes down. They crossed over the leg width water, to walk and balance above the shallowness, their nimbly, gracefully hopping from rock to rock.

“I can do this with my eyes closed,” Lesley said.

Rory was out further into the stream. He had walked onto one lone rock, about 20 feet from the dirt path.

And then he panicked, forgetting he knew how to walk back to dry, safe land.

He stood out there as Lesley pointed at him and laughed, taunting and teasing. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 138

“You’re trapped. You can’t get back!” she yelled.

He screamed loudly. He was terrified. He thought he was marooned.

Norma and Edna arrived. Lesley’s mother saw her laughing.

“What are you doing to him? Stop it!” Norma admonished.

Edna took off her shoes and waded into the stream. She made her way to her son. She grabbed his hand, he clasped hers, and he stepped off the rock into the water and they went through the shallow, murky stream until they ascended a muddy ridge up to the dirt path.

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Edna took a scarf that was in her bike basket and used it to wipe off her feet. She put her shoes back on and then everyone got back on their bikes. They pedaled back along the path, through the brush and the oaks, under the midday sun, back to Edna and Rory’s house.

Edna was upset that Rory had wandered off, she also felt disrespected, as if her fears were not valid. That this panicked moment occurred under the bridge she hated enhanced her anxiety. From now on Rory had to be kept out of here.

Edna had asked Rory not to discuss that day’s events with his father. She put Rory to bed and went out to the kitchen where George was eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream and half-sliced banana.

“Do you think Farrah Fawcett is pretty?” Edna asked.

“Of course, I do. Foolish question,” he said.

“What would you think if I got my hair styled like

Farrah for the Norton Simon party?” Edna asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 140

“I have no problem,” he said unenthusiastically.

“Oh. Ok then I’ll do it,” she said.

He dryly wiped away chocolate near his mouth with a napkin. He never looked up at her. He was in his own universe.

“I got a call from Dominick Dunne. Remember him? He’s coming to the party. He said it’s a very big deal. I couldn’t believe he called me. I thought he had forgotten me after our screenplay debacle. He’s a big snob. I told him that I was the new chairman of the San Gabriel Valley

Republican Party,” he said.

“You are? You told Dominick Dunne before your own wife? Congratulations. That is quite an honor,” she said.

“Dominick thought so,” George said.

He walked his bowl over to the sink and dropped it in for someone else to wash. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 141

“He has no interest in Republican politics other than the fact that rich people are found in it. We are now eminent Republicans in Pasadena. That’s why he called me.

We’ve got to make the right connections with the right people at the Norton Simon party,” he said.

“Those people are such bores. Not to mention vapid.

Reagan is such a simple man. Don’t you think?” Edna said.

“Reagan is back-to-basics. Anti-communist, pro- business, and good for people like us. I want to put a stop to the never-ending expansion of welfare in California, opening the door to every minority who wants to come here,”

George said.

“Our Hong-Kong born friends are also anti-communist and immigrants, so where do they fit into your plans?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 142

“The Orientals like Norma and her physician husband are good people. They are quiet. Their children do well in school. They don’t cause trouble. My tenants in Chinatown are very respectful. And I respect them,” he said.

“Sounds like you have it all figured out. Are you eager to attend the party?” Edna asked.

“I have to be. I’m in a prominent role now. Good night

I have some work to do,” he said.

He walked out of the kitchen, into his office and closed the door.

Onward to Westwood Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 143

Tony had wanted to get out of Chinatown since he got there. It was a stopping off point for him, not a place to stay in. He had greater aspirations. With his all-cash business growing, he saved money, enough to afford a better location.

He went out to where he lusted after: Westwood, a cool and happening place in the late 1970s, and there he looked at a vacant storefront for rent.

Westwood, he reasoned, was near Beverly Hills and Bel

Air. The people who lived there were affluent, or college students, and his potential clientele also included wealthy women in the luxury towers along Wilshire, office workers, and the idle ladies who took daily lunches at the terraced, white tablecloth restaurants.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 144

He found Chinatown demoralizing, a ghetto, not stylish or special, not anything he wished to be associated with.

He made up his mind to end his lease and move to Westwood.

Ephemeral Friends

He returned from Westwood, back to his salon on Temple

Street and waited for his friend to drop by.

He took out a cold bottle of Chardonnay, two chilled wine glasses.

He heard the car in the alley, the engine shut off, and then the special knock, three times. He unlocked and opened the steel door.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 145

And into the utility room walked the most beautiful woman in the world. She threw her arms around him and held him tight, tighter than normal. “I love you Tony,” she said, pressing her fingers into his shoulder blades.

Farrah wore a red leather, fringed jacket over a white silk poet blouse and cocoa colored leather pants with purple cowboy boots. Her waist was tiny, cinched with a sterling silver and turquoise Navajo Concho belt. Her hair was a puffed land of curls and waves, her face a sculpted arrangement of angularity; her smile, as always was open and loving.

They held hands as he walked her through the dark into the front area of the empty salon, illuminated only by a hanging green glass shaded light. The room was diffused in vanilla, roses, bergamot, and lemon.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 146

He pulled down the woven wood shade on the front window. And then, after throwing off her boots, she sunk into the yellow sofa, curling her legs up on the cushions.

She took a sip of wine. She tousled her hair and fingered back her curls.

He took a seat on the floor, to look up at her.

“I thank God I have this place. You’re my refuge and my secret escape. I had to dodge, again, today, those insane photographers chasing me around town. Nobody can find me here,” she said.

“Where were you today?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 147

“Don’t ask. I was up at 5am. I had to be ready for a

Barbara Walters interview at ABC. That lasted all morning.

And then at Noon I was in Beverly Hills having lunch with my agent, manager and lawyer. And people actually came up to our table, when we were eating and conversing, and asked me to sign autographs. I left at 1 and drove to Brentwood and they followed me into a shopping center. I picked up some grapes and some milk and drove back to Pacific

Palisades. I went through the gates and pulled up in front of my house and sat in the car and cried. This isn’t a real life. I’m a wreck. I really am,” she said.

Tony was privy to Farrah’s worries, her anxieties, and her deep reluctance to believe in her own self-worth. In a strange way he felt the same way about his own talent.

“They have an erroneous idea of who you are. But that’s who they are chasing after,” he said.

“Let me send my Doppelgänger to them. They can devour her,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 148

“Nobody knows who anybody is. For me, an Oriental, I’m supposed to be inscrutable, mysterious, talented in the martial arts, devoted to my family, excellent in math and musical instruments, and practice ancestor worship. And possess secret knowledge, maybe tell them their fortune, or cook up some herbal soup to cure them of disease or speak in proverbs and dispense wisdom. I can’t do any of that.

I’m a silly faggot who cuts hair,” he said.

Farrah slipped off the sofa and went down onto the rug, onto her knees, next to him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him. She rested her head on his shoulder and all her hair cascaded down his back, draping him like a blanket in her blondeness. She put her mouth next to his ear so that all the warmth, the breath and the woman poured directly into his senses. He trembled to have her in his hands. It was rhapsodic, and, yet, it was completely, improbably platonic.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 149

“I want to be inscrutable, mysterious, possess secret knowledge, and tell fortunes. Can you teach me how?” she asked.

He laughed. He looked at her like a lover. He held the woman the whole world wanted in his arms.

Then, abruptly, in tone and manner, he reneged into anger and rant.

“What if I don’t want to be a category? What if I don’t want to be just an Oriental or a queer man? Can’t I be a regular guy on the street, an individual, not an ethnic product on a grocery shelf? What does it mean to be an American if you aren’t free of those shackles?” he asked.

“I don’t know the answer. I’m also a product at the supermarket, on the magazines and tabloids at the checkout line!” Farrah said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 150

They talked for nearly an hour more. Then he brought up what he had been keeping to himself.

“I’m thinking of leaving Chinatown. Relocating to somewhere else…. Westwood,” he said.

“I can’t imagine you anywhere else. This is where you belong. Your shop is so private and exotic. I love coming here because I feel like I’m in another country. How can you move from Chinatown?” she asked.

He told her he was tired of living in a Chinese container. He was in America. And he was free, to go anywhere.

“I am an American citizen. I want to rid myself of old entanglements and sticky chains. Look around this shop.

There is nothing Chinese here. I don’t have a statue of

Buddha. No incense burning. No bowl of oranges, no goldfish. This is me,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 151

She looked away, disappointed.

“What about me? If it’s money you need let me help. We can make this place even grander!” she said.

“No. It’s not money. It’s dreams. I want to break out and live freely. Don’t you get it babe?” he asked.

“But the atmosphere, you can’t replicate that in

Westwood. This is where you belong!” she said.

“No, I don’t belong here. Do you only belong on

Charlie’s Angels? Or in a Noxzema commercial?” he asked.

Her face went dark, wounded.

He knew he had hurt her.

Unintended.

Irreversible.

“Those are ugly remarks. You remind me of Lee when he assaults me with insults,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I spoke foolishly,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 152

“I only meant to express how much I love your

Chinatown place. I come here to break from the pressures of

Hollywood. It’s a paradise for me, Shangri-La. I feel like

I understand your story when I come here,” she said.

She was pleading with him to stay in character, on location.

He stood up to speak.

“I’m the author of my story. I’m not a fictional character. I’m not the proprietor of Shangri-La. It’s important for me to get out of Chinatown,” he said.

“I’ll support you no matter what you do. Why did you have to attack me with those comments about Noxzema and

Charlie’s Angels? I make a lot of money, it may seem like trivial work. I suppose it can’t compare to blow drying women and cutting their bangs,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 153

He said he was sorry for his outburst. But her favor was lost. He was now weak for apologizing. And mean for speaking his mind. Her power reasserted itself, her privilege, and he was dropped from her heart.

He had started with high hopes for this night. He had looked to her for support. And instead he ended up insulting her. He had spoken happily of his upcoming liberation from Chinatown. He thought she would be ecstatic. But she was not.

And they were done, as friends, the lesser having insulted the greater.

After that night there were no more visits.

What seemed eternal between these two odd exiles was rather quite fragile. Their strong, cohesive, enduring bond could not withstand the collapse of perception and illusion.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 154

When it came time to say good-bye they kissed and hugged and said how much they loved each other. But their evening and their relationship ended, as most friendships begin in Hollywood, insincerely.

“Have a great night!” she said as she left the salon for the last time.

Incident in San Marino

Edna asked Norma to meet her for lunch at the Colonial

Kitchen, an old-style café on Huntington Blvd that served burgers, pancakes, iced tea, Cobb Salad and tuna melts.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 155

Edna drove up and parked. Norma was standing outside in her oversized black sunglasses; her black hair blew in the warm wind. She wore open toed sandals, denim bell- bottoms, a bright yellow knit top and a wide brimmed straw hat. She was young and modern and stylish, in contrast to the silver-haired, white ladies and cane addled men who patronized the Colonial Kitchen.

Edna and Norma kissed on the sidewalk. And then they went inside to get seated.

“I like your hair,” Norma said.

“Thank you. I just came from Buzz at The Faire Set

Salon. I’ve been going to him for years. Harriet and Ginger go there. Maybe that’s a sign I shouldn’t. I think I need a change, some updating, something younger and fresher,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 156

They sat down at a table. A beefy, red-cheeked waitress in a folded paper hat and white uniform brought water fast, slamming it down, hurriedly, impatiently, moving to other tables, faking a smile.

She circled back and took Edna and Norma’s orders.

Edna ordered a burger, and Norma an omelet. The server wrote down the requests. And then she looked at Norma.

“We don’t have anything spicy here. Not even Tabasco sauce. It’s all plain, old-fashioned, real American food.

And we only have forks, knives and spoons,” the waitress said. And then she walked off.

“What was that about? Excuse me for a minute,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 157

Edna stood up and walked to the back of the room where the fat waitress was filling up water glasses. Edna confronted her.

“I think you were very rude to say that to my friend,”

Edna said.

“Say what ma’am? I don’t know what you mean,” the waitress answered.

“You know damn well what you said about the spices and the utensils. You think she doesn’t know how to use a fork or knife? You think she puts chili sauce on everything? Her

English is perfect. She has a fine home in Pasadena, a beautiful child and loving husband. I bet you have none of those. Who are you to make her feel unwelcome at your mediocre restaurant?” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 158

“I’m sorry you mistook my advice for something else.

Honestly, I wasn’t being rude. Some of them come in here and expect soy sauce and chop sticks,” the waitress said.

“You’re an odious bigot. You should not be serving the public, especially in this community. And you may also be violating the law. I think I’ll let your manager know,”

Edna said.

And then Edna walked back to the table.

“Let’s get out of here. I’d rather eat at In-N-Out

Burger!” Edna said.

Encounters and Conversations

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 159

George, shirt off, a white towel draped across his genitals, lay on his back on top of a massage table in

Tony’s shop after closing.

Tony rubbed him with almond oil, caressing his skin and massaging his muscles, pushing into his chest and stomach, along his forehead, gently tugging his ears, tingling down his legs, cupping his lubricated hands up and down George’s arms, pulling George’s fingers, one by one, chasing tension away through tactile pleasure.

The room was a nighttime spa, yet outside there was still freeway noise, smog, sirens, car horns, and helicopters. The sanctum inside had a white noise machine, candles, oils, all assisting the intimate work between two men who had regular encounters.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 160

Chinese Massages, as Tony coined them, were improvised, ersatz affairs invented solely for meetups with

George. Tony had told him that he learned some techniques from his days in Hong Kong, that he read books on Chinese

Massage, that there were elements of Buddhism in the movements. He lent spirituality to the sexual to elevate it into the transcendent.

George willingly submitted to lies. He came to close his eyes, open his legs and release.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 161

On this night, Yusef Lateef’s “Eastern Sounds,” played. The Plum Blossom song from that album was a particular favorite of Tony’s as it incorporated the Xun, a

Chinese wind instrument. Gentle, mesmerizing, flutelike, it invoked another hemisphere, it relaxed both men and heightened their passion. The five-minute song was the background for orgasm and when it ended the music stopped, but the love lingered on.

The massages always ended happily. Tony always took a heated hand towel and wiped George down. Then George, slowly, got up, drank some water, and put his clothes back on.

George was always in a hurry to get back on the road and go home, but on this night, he stayed minutes longer after the massage to talk.

“What do you think?” George asked.

“Of what?” Tony asked.

“These things we do here,” George said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 162

“I quite enjoy it. I wish I could have you stay here longer, explore something deeper between us,” Tony said.

“You know that’s impossible,” George said.

“Because you’re married?” Tony asked.

“That and I am not homosexual. Bottom line I’m straight. 100%. I do this privately and discreetly. I count on you to keep it private. If any word of this got out, it would destroy my life,” George said.

“Do you care how I feel?” Tony asked.

“Of course. But I enjoy the therapeutic sessions and I just want to make clear they are only that. Nothing more,”

George said.

“You don’t feel just a little something more for me?”

Tony asked.

“I don’t have time to indulge in this fantasy. I come here for business. We have a business relationship. I’ve never implied anything else,” George said.

“Sure thing boss. I am your tenant. I live and work in

Chinatown and you come to get rent, sometimes to get a treatment, so I understand our relationship is completely professional, nothing more!” Tony said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 163

“Shall we shake hands?” George said offering his hand.

Tony did not take.

“Ok then, good-night,” George said.

Tony was silent as George walked out.

Bitter, tired, angry, Tony pulled the white sheet off the massage table and threw it on the floor.

He sprayed glass cleaner on the padding and wiped with a paper towel. He threw the sheet into the washing machine adding bleach and detergent.

Until this night he thought they were growing closer.

Now Tony ate the truth: demeaning, transactional, phony.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 164

Tony Wang, 30 years old, successful hair stylist, creator of a style now worn by millions around the world, was a successful hermit hiding out in Chinatown, craving affection and recognition, love and friendship from two people: a television star and a married man. Now he accepted and realized he would never be an equal in their eyes.

Had he aimed too high? Was his journey in search of love and trust wasted on those two, too high born to return it? For a second he hated the world. But his self-esteem remained. He was no victim. He would push on and push past the rejection. He would move on from Farrah and George, leave Chinatown just as he left Hong Kong, confident that his own life mattered, that his own dreams were worth the fight. He was hurt but it motivated him to prove his doubters wrong.

Now he was more determined to get out from Chinatown, to chart his own course as a free agent, far away from the ghetto of low expectations and white servitude.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 165

Child Rearing

It never worried Norma that her Lesley, 12-years-old, went out alone on a bike and rode outside for hours.

It was late afternoon, mid-August, a few weeks before the start of the new school year. Edna was in Norma’s backyard.

“It’s almost dinner. Aren’t you worried about Lesley?”

Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 166

“When I was her age, I rode the bus, I rode the ferry.

I went to the worst sections of Kowloon. And I went everywhere in Hong Kong: Queen’s Road, Central Market, and

Sheung Wan. I played with beggars and I played with bullies. I used to go to Cheung Chau Island, take the ferry, run around with my friends to Cheung Po Tsai Cave.

I’d come home at 9pm for dinner. We ate with grandmother, and I cleaned the dishes, and went to study for three hours and I collapsed in bed at midnight. I did everything I wanted without mum watching me!” Norma said.

“You live in 1970s America now. There are dangerous people everywhere. Only 10 years ago we had Charles Manson.

There are evil men in cars who kidnap little girls. I just pray nothing happens,” Edna said.

Norma dismissed overprotectiveness. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 167

“How are you going to grow strong if you are kept in a nursery until adulthood?”

Edna sat and shook her head. Norma stood up, grabbed a broom and began to sweep the patio. She was always busy: cleaning, moving, never still.

She put the broom down. She took her husband’s 45, 35 and 25 lb. cast iron plates, and stacked them on a weightlifting rack near his weight bench.

“I would be Chi Sin, crazy, you say, to be so overprotective. Americans talk tough with their guns and wars, but they are true cowards raising kids. They are afraid of everything! I want my kid to fight, to get into some misadventures, to fly away from this nest and make her own damn life. Just like me, but better,” Norma said.

“I’m just saying, there is a balance. You are a good mother. I just can’t agree with your non-chalance,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 168

“Oh hell. I stink. I’m not a good mother. I’m a lousy wife. I can’t cook. I don’t worry about my husband. Should

I go see a psychiatrist?” Norma said laughing.

“You give yourself too little credit,” Edna said.

Norma, rag in hand, sat, barefoot, on a blue metal stool. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon, she wore a white-t, denim shorts and flip-flops.

“I have to confess I worry about my husband most. I don’t care about how I look, and what I say or do, yet the more neglectful I am, the more he loves me. He is so lustful. He wants to make love all the time. I am not that interested. It is too exhausting. Do you understand?” Norma asked.

“No. I live a very chaste life, like a nun. I wish I had a love life like yours,” Edna admitted. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 169

“Your husband is a good provider. And you have a beautiful home and two nice sons. From my point-of-view you are on top of the world. And white which is the favored race,” Norma said.

“It’s not what you think it is. My life just happened by chance. Boston, California, George, Ed, Rory and

Pasadena. Have the gods favored or cursed me? I don’t know,” Edna said.

The two women walked into the house. Edna sat down at the kitchen table. Norma turned a kettle on for tea.

“Have you eaten? You haven’t! Take this banana!” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 170

Norma poured hot water over a tea bag in a mug and brought it to Edna.

“Milk? Sugar? Anything?” Norma asked.

“Just plain. Thank you,” Edna said as Norma sat back down.

“We still must shop for our Jennifer Jones event! Tony wants me to go blonde like Farrah Fawcett. I think we both should go as sisters. He will do us up. I’ll be the first blonde Oriental in Pasadena! The town will be shocked!”

Norma said.

“I don’t know how I’d survive here without you,” Edna said. She grew morose recalling Rebecca. Norma was the nearest thing to a lost sister. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 171

The pain of the memory made Edna cry. She took a paper napkin and dabbed her eyes.

“What, what is it my dear? What’s wrong? Did I say something stupid?” Norma asked as she clasped Edna’s wrist.

“No, nothing you said. You haven’t heard about my sister,” Edna said.

Edna told Norma about Rebecca’s suicide. And how wrecked she still was, how twelve years later she still mourned. That violent act ripped a terminal hole in the heart, searing, eviscerating, horrific. Her death was ever present, an eternal shock, ready to explode again at any time, buried within the brain like epilepsy, debilitating and without remedy.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 172

“That’s why I hate bridges. The one across the arroyo looming over us like a mad demon. When I see it, I shudder.

When I drive across it, I want to get over it fast. I forbid my boys to go there,” she said.

Norma stood behind Edna, stroking her hair gently and lightly, like an angel.

“You loved your sister. You honor your sister by remembering her. She is still alive, in spirit. She is with you, forever. She may still be protecting you and your family,” Norma said.

Lost Nation

That summer more came to the Colorado Street Bridge to jump off and die.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 173

Martina LaRosa, 15, a prodigal violinist on holiday from Caracas, Venezuela, camera strung around her neck, hiking boots and flannel shirt, was exploring the bridge and decided to end her life right there. She had been staying with a symphony conductor and his family nearby and was going to perform with the Pasadena Symphony the night she killed herself.

Some blamed the hot weather and the Santa Ana winds; others scapegoated drugs, permissiveness, bad diets and atheism.

That summer there was anguish in Pasadena and futility across the nation. Edna was uneasy and tense, unable to rid herself of hopelessness. She lived to get through another day, lived in the hope she would hear no more sad tales from the bridge.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 174

The nation was in turmoil too. Hostages were being held in Iran, the recession depressed business and threw millions out of work, and there was yet another energy crisis. Every sector of American pride and glory was collapsing.

Born-again President Jimmy Carter, pained, moved to provide counsel and ministry, spoke aloud about the low morale of his countrymen:

“The threat is nearly invisible in ordinary ways. It is a crisis of confidence. It is a crisis that strikes at the very heart and soul and spirit of our national will. We can see this crisis in the growing doubt about the meaning of our own lives and in the loss of a unity of purpose for our nation,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 175

George heard the President and was infuriated.

Carter’s “crisis” encapsulated the effeminate weakness of a

Democrat who demoralized his country by speaking morose and depressing sentiments on the Fourth of July. The Leader of the Free World, saved by Christ, lost as leader. George, thirsted for a real man, in the White House.

“Carter is a God-damned fool, a pessimist, a typical

Democrat weakling blaming our people for the problems he created!” railed George.

George had a long dislike of the Democratic Party. He thought the resignation of Nixon wrong, that Vietnam was lost by protests, that Watergate was a silly affair not quite important enough to destroy a president who deserved to remain in office. He blamed liberalism as the source of all weakness and all surrender, licentiousness had replaced work, handouts attracted illegals, sexual freedom was destroying family virtue.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 176

With the nation lagging and losing, Edna was still lingering upon the riddle of suicide. She was searching for a safeguard against it. The only solution she came up with was Love.

“We have to tell our children that we love them!” Edna told George.

“I don’t need to hug them every day or say I love you to my boys,” he said.

“I think you do,” Edna said.

But she left it at that. George could not be forced to show love.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 177

Strange Blue Sign

Edna went out, alone, for a Saturday morning bike ride. She left through the side garage door. She pedaled around to the front of her house to admire her garden. And she was startled to see a red, white and blue “Reagan” sign placed between the boxwoods, white roses and lavender.

Who put it there? She looked up and down the block.

Then George came out the front door, smiling.

“Your doing?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 178

“Not your taste?” he answered.

“It would have been nice if you had consulted me,” she said.

“I’m the Chairman of Pasadena Republican Club. I have to show my open allegiance,” he said.

“You don’t show anything openly,” she said.

“You’re standing there with your bike not riding anywhere. Are you trying to make an issue out of this?” he asked.

She got back on her bike and circled around.

“Should I put a Carter sign next to it? That way everyone will see we have a divided marriage,” she said.

He blocked her and put his hands on her handlebars.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 179

“You can’t accept that you’re a Pasadena housewife.

You live in a Republican town. Your husband is a

Republican. You carry around the burden of all your Boston liberalism. Lighten your load lady,” he said.

“Get off the street you jerk. Let me ride in peace,” she said.

“My cousin, Henry Cabot Lodge was a Republican. Back when it meant something. Back when the abolitionists who opposed slavery ran the party, back when a conservative was someone who conserved. Your Republican Party is going to be led by a man who cut education, who decimated our state’s university system, who is bought and paid for by corporate money. A vapid actor,” she said.

He stood up on the curb now. She stood on the street straddling her bike.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 180

“Your words are really unflattering. Unfeminine as a dyke,” he said.

“Calling me a dyke? For my tolerance of liberal ideas?” she asked.

She rode off down the shaded street, an uneasy ride, for she would have to come home at its end.

The sign in the yard: it quite easily provoked their ever-present, unsettled marital hostility.

The Day of the Dye

Norma picked up Edna at the Gilmore house, parking in the driveway shade to wait for her friend to emerge out a side door. It was the day of the dye, their appointment with Tony in Chinatown. Tonight, they would both emerge as blondes in Farrah hair. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 181

Edna wore denim pants and a printed cotton top and sandals, looking quite young and girlish. She got in the car exhaling doubt, unease and wariness. Norma backed out, they drove, Edna spoke.

“We had a fight again,” Edna said.

On the 110, Edna opened up her purse and pulled out an old photograph of Rebecca and showed it to Norma.

“I see the resemblance. You both had similar colored hair and eyes. At least we differ in our eyes,” Norma said half glancing at the road and the picture.

Edna squished herself below the dashboard, like a little girl, with her knees up near her chest, her feet on the edge of the seat looking out the window. In the free and reckless style of that time she wore no seat belt.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 182

“I should be happy today but I woke up anxious. Maybe dying my hair will cure it,” Edna said.

Edna rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and stared out as the car drove downtown, the shacks of

Highland Park speeding past.

“You have no motivation to hurt your husband, but I want to spite George. He has no awareness of me as a woman.

I doubt this hair style will change that,” she said.

Edna, fantasizing, would get him to acknowledge her in the cold dim frigidity of their bedroom. Yet she realized her experiment would probably fail, which lent a pre- existing gloom to the day of the dye.

“Every marriage gets tired and needs some help. What if this does it for George?” Norma asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 183

“We are more than tired. We are defeated. We surrendered to celibacy long ago. You are well fed on passion so you can’t imagine what it’s like to live starved for love,” Edna said.

Norma turned onto the off ramp at Hill Street. The white limestone spire of City Hall came into view, a reminder of civic nobility in a city that hardly lived up to it.

“I didn’t know we had such an elegant City Hall. How did I live here so long and miss that building? I must live in a fog,” Edna said.

They drove past empty lots where old houses once stood, past gas stations, asphalt parking lots, cigarette billboards, weedy fields of trash and dried grass, and in

Chinatown, they sped past old men in dark suit jackets and fedoras, and old women pulling metal shopping carts.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 184

They parked in the rock-paved alley behind Tony’s shop on Temple Street.

Edna looked in the visor mirror, fixing her hair before she got out of the car. She coughed and sneezed and covered her mouth with her sleeve.

She recognized that her cigarette was a mistake, a rebel gesture gone foul, for here, all around, the outside air was also foul, hot and dirty, all around was brown air and regret.

Norma grasped her friend’s hand. She looked at Edna eye-to-eye.

“If your man doesn’t love you then he doesn’t deserve you. You are a beautiful woman. Hair colored any color.

Don’t forget how special you are. Sexy and feminine. Any man should adore you. Think of how fun this is going to be.

A big Jennifer Jones Hollywood party!” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 185

They had arrived early. Norma pulled up the electric car windows and turned on the air-conditioning relaxed by a stream of pure cool air.

“20 years ago, Jennifer Jones came to Hong Kong. She thought we were all there to serve her, we poor Chinese peasants! Look at me now. A doctor’s wife, an American citizen, so damned proud of what we have achieved. We got out of Hong Kong and made something of our lives. So, I will stand next to Miss Jennifer Jones with her “Love is a

Many Splendored Thing” face and I will have no shame, no shame at all!” Norma said.

There was clarity and purpose, a sense of justice, of righted wrongs for Norma as she spoke of her life in exile and the upcoming big party.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 186

They walked to the back of the salon, opening the unlocked door leading into a storage room. It was dark.

Boxes were stacked along the only light, an alley window behind steel bars. Under that was a twin cot where Tony rested. Nearby were steel shelves with hair products, hair chemicals, surface cleaning supplies, rags, brushes and buckets with stylist tools.

“A sad little place,” Edna said.

“No. Wait until we go into the front. It’s much cheerier,” Norma said.

The front salon was alive as the back was dead.

Everything was vivid and pulsating. The walls were bright orange, the tile floor blue and white, the chairs red vinyl, the windows brought in southern sunlight, intensity, saturation and passion.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 187

“Hello ladies!” Tony shouted, smiling, and busily attending to his current client.

“Have a seat!” he said.

Tony put an 8-track Gloria Gaynor cassette in a stereo machine. “I Will Survive” played. Tony went back to blow dry Carlotta, a blonde-haired black model. He danced around her, examining her from every angle.

He flounced her hair, he sprayed it, he brushed it, he used his fingers to pull each curl into place around her face. He handed her a hand mirror, he spun her chair around so she could see herself from every angle; all the while he never stopped moving, continually gyrating, dancing and singing.

“Aren’t you terrific? See how special you look!” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 188

Like a bullfighter, he pulled the smock off the girl in the chair. With courtly elegance, he extended his hand, helped her out of the chair. He presented her, finished and transformed, to the gathered: “Meet the new Carlotta

Wilkinson!” he said.

The model smiled. “Thank you. This man is my favorite person in the whole world,” she said.

He walked Carlotta to the front register. She paid him in cash, and then they kissed, and hugged, and she was at the door. She turned to wave.

“Good-bye everyone. So nice to meet you all,” she said as Tony held her door open.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 189

He got up on a small wooden stool to turn the window air-conditioner above the door on high.

“Ravishing woman. Fine actress. She was on Kojak and

The Six Million Dollar Man and The Love Boat, but nobody will hire her now. If you are a black woman you take what you can get and then they drop you when you are 35,” he said.

“She dated Lee Majors, didn’t she?” Edna asked.

“I think so. But it was quite hush-hush. He was still married to Farrah. And Hollywood did not think the great white Lee Majors should date a dark-skinned woman,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 190

He changed the 8-track and put another cassette in.

Esther Satterfield sang “Land of Make Believe” as Chuck

Mangione played trumpet.

When you’re feeling down and out

Wondering what this world’s about

I know a place that has the answer

It’s a place where no one dies

It’s a land where no one cries Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 191

And good vibrations always

Greet you.

How I love when my thoughts run

To the land of make believe

Where everything is fun

Forever.1

Tony came up to Edna and shook her hand.

“Edna so nice to meet you. Norma has spoken very highly of you,” he said. He regarded her carefully, diligently, empathetically.

1 ©℗ 1973 The Verve Music Group, a Division of UMG Recordings, Inc. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 192

“Thank you. I’m ready to submit to your creative artistry. I think,” she said.

He thought she was so polite and so pretty, so well- born. They were meeting for the first time, and all they shared in common was Edna’s husband who was also Tony’s boyfriend, George.

It was all so amusing and all so tragic and unspoken.

“Look at you two diplomats at the embassy. I warn you my cousin is also a comedian. He is on his way up in

Hollywood, so you had better watch out!” Norma said.

“Sit down here Edna,” Tony said as he showed her a chair.

He took his fingers and moved Edna’s head slightly to examine her features.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 193

“You have an old lady style from 1969, years ago. Do you go to an old lady for your hair?” he asked in characteristic Cantonese bluntness.

Edna laughed.

“He’s a fairly young man but he’s in San Marino which

I guess is an old lady town. Very proper biddies live there!” she said.

“We’re going to change that. You don’t need to look older. You need to stay younger. Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

“Boyfriend? Husband!” she answered.

“Oh, a husband, how impressive,” he said, keeping his game face.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 194

He went to a glass doored refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of cold champagne.

“If you are going to ask me to turn you both into

Farrah Fawcett, I think we all need to be a little bit relaxed and intoxicated. Don’t you think?” he said.

Transformed

The ladies had drunk a few glasses of champagne while

Tony worked on their hair: washing, drying, cutting, dyeing.

Edna, enfoiled, sat in her chair with the white smock draped over her, within the smell of bleach and its eye sting. Next to her, Norma, head also wrapped up, eyes closed, near sleep. Her treacherous and arduous afternoon journey from black to blonde was almost complete. Now they could only wait until the foils came off and the colors were revealed.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 195

Tony left the women to dry out in their chairs.

He went into the bathroom, washed up, changed his clothes and came out into the salon in a different outfit.

Now he was dressed in a wide collared, shiny gold dress shirt tucked into a low-waisted denim jean, fastened with a large western style leather belt. He had ornate cowboy boots on that made him some three inches taller.

The music stopped. Two ceiling fans turned. The room was quiet, cool and restful.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 196

Edna dozed off and then she woke up. She saw him in the mirror, back turned to her. She saw his thick, long, black hair and his stunning V-shaped back and narrow waist.

He was a beautiful man.

“You ladies relax. You have to sit here for 45 minutes to let the process take hold. What can I get you? Soda, water, wine, vodka?” he asked.

“Tea cousin?” Norma asked.

“Iced or hot?” he answered.

“Iced please,” Norma said.

“I’d love a glass of cold white wine,” Edna said.

“Right away my little blossoms. Just wait until you see how gorgeous you both will be. Two sisters will soon emerge!” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 197

Divesting in Dark Places

While Edna and Norma were in the salon Rory and Lesley played Scrabble in Rory’s bedroom. Later they went into the backyard and kicked around a soccer ball. Then they got on their bikes and rode into the Arroyo.

George sat at his home desk inspecting rent rolls in ledger books under the green glass lamp.

He examined each property and made red marks on what types of people were living in his buildings, noting the minorities, especially Latinos and blacks. He was planning on divesting himself of these units, fearing that they would lose value each year. East Hollywood and West Adams,

Silver Lake and Echo Park were dreadful places. They would never come back as desirable locations.

His goal: cheaply buy up apartments in West Los

Angeles where the white people reigned.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 198

In assessing properties, he was not concerned with their physical condition. What mattered to him was who lived there, and who could afford to pay rent on time. He knew there would always be a market for $150 a month apartment but not in his properties.

He developed a private, illegal system to filter out undesirables: blacks, Hispanics, and all unmarried or divorced women with children, “the pests” as he called them.

In applications he religiously followed his prejudices, keeping out the pests with their drugs, sexually transmitted diseases, unstable incomes, nocturnal parties and weird foods.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 199

Yet he retained a strange affinity and tolerance for people from China, Japan, Korea, Vietnam, and Thailand. He thought of them as quiet, complacent, studious, and respectful, these tenants from Asia.

Edna had once asked of George, whom she knew to be so intolerant, how he so embraced Norma.

“I’m a modern man. I have no prejudice,” he said.

“Really?” she said.

He explained.

“I have a great deal of respect for Norma and her husband, a medical doctor who came all the way from Hong

Kong and ended up at Huntington Hospital,” he said.

“But if the doctor were an American black man born in a poor part of New Orleans you would not think his ascension remarkable?” Edna teased. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 200

“Oh, shut up. Always bringing up the blacks. Why didn’t you marry one?” he asked.

On the same afternoon as Norma and Edna went blonde,

Dr. Yue came to the Gilmore Home to pick up his daughter.

George was in his office and looked out the window at a man walking up the path. He saw a tan, slender, clean- shaven, athletic visitor in aviator glasses with blow dried, black hair. He wore a blue dress shirt and striped tie that jauntily swung in the wind.

George got up with the doorbell, walked into the hall and opened the front door, blinded by the western sun, aroused to sandalwood aftershave.

“I’m Vincent Yue, Lesley’s father, and, of course,

Norma’s husband. So good to finally meet you!” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 201

“George,” he said, enraptured.

He shook the hand of the visitor and ushered him inside.

“My wife has spoken very highly of you. Come on in, doctor,” George said.

Dr. Yue had a deep voice; and a crisp, British infused accent, with exact annunciation, drilled into his speech by years of private school. His physical confidence, easy manner and authoritative masculinity impressed George.

Dr. Yue slipped out of his black shoes just as Lesley came into the hall.

“Dad! I would have walked home,” Lesley said.

“Have walked,” he corrected.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 202

Rory trailed in.

“Hi Dr. Yue,” he said.

“Hello Rory. How are you doing?” Dr. Yue asked.

“Good, I guess,” Rory answered.

George, impersonating a kind father, guided Rory over, placed a right hand over his son’s shoulder in faux affection.

Everyone stood, awkwardly, silently, until Dr. Yue spoke up.

“The ladies are getting their hair done today. Don’t worry about how they turn out. It’s our cousin Tony. He is an expert hair stylist. He cuts my hair too,” Dr. Yue said.

“Tony?” George asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 203

“Yes. Tony Wang. He’s an up and coming hair stylist in

Chinatown. We both shall see our wives shortly and we hope to be impressed,” Dr. Yue said laughing.

The stylist was Tony. And it unnerved George.

“Well thank you for looking after Lesley. We must see each other soon, again. Provided we men have enough time after work!” Dr. Yue said.

Lesley thanked George and Rory. And then the doctor and his daughter walked out.

George was disturbed, convulsed by the coincidence that Tony was related to Dr. Yue. It foretold trouble.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 204

Acolytes of Farrah

The coloring and cuts transpired over a long afternoon.

Norma and Edna were hidden from viewing one another by a tall, cotton sheeted floor screen Tony put up between their chairs. To enhance the surprise, he also draped towels over mirrors.

In spirit, sense and style Farrah Fawcett possessed the room. She had come through this salon in secrecy, the world’s most famous face and mane, the quintessence of femininity. Her hairstyle, originating here, had traveled around the world atop women in every country and now returned to its birthplace.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 205

After the cut and the coloring came the blow-drying and it seemed to go on the longest. Tony curled, combed and pulled, blowing hot air on each woman, individually, moving from one to the other, sculpting their tresses through electric coiled hot air and boars’ hairbrushes.

Tony took a break and drank a glass of cold Chablis.

He ushered Norma back into the storage room, hidden from seeing Edna as she emerged as Farrah.

Tony gently pulled Edna’s smock off and then he removed a black towel from a mirror. He scooted her around to see her new hair.

It startled her. The feathered, dishwater blonde hair, the curls framing her face, the youthful sexiness aside her nearly middle-aged face.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 206

Tony stood behind her, awaiting a response. She had none.

“What do you think? Are you pleased?” he asked.

“I think you did a tremendous job. You are very skilled,” she said.

He intuited something not quite right. Her face expressed ambiguity.

“I’m sorry. There is just something in the mirror that feels strange to me. Do I know that woman? I feel like a part of me is missing. Am I ungracious? Am I crazy?” she asked.

She was unhappy. It disappointed him. It was also a comedown waiting for a compliment from a well-to-do

Pasadena nobody.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 207

He was the un-credited creator of the world-famous

Farrah hair, prohibited from claiming authorship, starved for authentication and credit.

“Tell me. Do you just need time to adjust to it, or do you, perhaps, not like it at all?” he asked.

“I’ll never be as pretty as Farrah Fawcett. I don’t even know if I can be as pretty as the old Edna Lodge

Gilmore,” she said.

“Let’s not be psychological. Get the negative bullshit out of your head. What you look like on the outside is the whole story. Enjoy that!” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 208

He understood her insecurity. He compared it to how

Farrah reacted when he first cut and feathered her hair.

She didn’t like it. She thought it made her jaw jut out and her face anorexic.

He went to the back room and brought Norma out.

The second Farrah joined Edna in the front salon.

Norma blonde and tousled, like Ms. Fawcett, wore a fuchsia cheongsam.

She also felt odd, as if her naturalness had been replaced by something inauthentic. “I am not quite sure I like this. But I guess I am not used to it. Do we look like fools?” Norma asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 209

“Stop it! Just enjoy your freedom. You can be whoever you want to be. Stop living in your identities and categories and just enjoy life! Do you need the approval of parents, husbands, friends, relatives, or the government on how to wear your hair? Be an American! And do what the hell you want!” Tony said.

Tony, playing Svengali, watched the two women as they saw one another for the first time, as they regarded their new looks.

Edna looked at Norma.

“You are so beautiful. There is nothing false about you. You were born to be Farrah,” Edna said.

“You are prettier. You carry it better than I,” Norma said.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Such bullshit,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 210

Edna caressed Norma’s silk dress and brushed her friend’s hair back. “You are the prettier one. I don’t have your cheekbones, your gorgeous eyes, your slender figure.

You are the better version of the Farrah experiment I think,” Edna said.

“Enough ass kissing. Brown nosing. We have to take photos,” Tony said.

“I think it’s time for you to go in back and put on the other cheongsam. Tony had one dry cleaned for you.

Isn’t that right cousin?” Norma said.

“Edna in the back room go change into the dress. Then we are going up to that high and windy hill overlooking downtown, and we will take some photographs before sunset.

Does that sound nice?” Tony asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 211

Norma sipped wine. “This is too much. I feel weird. No girl in our family has ever had blonde hair. Do not mail a photo of me in this costume to Hong Kong. Do you hear me cousin?” Norma said.

“Oh, c’mon. You make me feel like a piece of shit. I’m a big deal in Hollywood, and I make you and your friend look beautiful and you don’t show me appreciation. Look at you. Ying baau geng, cool enough to break a mirror!” he said.

“What a day. I should call home. Here I am, treating myself to a day in a salon, neglecting my domestic duties,” she said.

“Your husband will have a very hot lady in his bed tonight. I think you made the right decision,” he said.

“So vulgar cousin,” she said.

They waited for Edna to come out of the bathroom. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 212

“I don’t think Mrs. Gilmore likes her hair. She’s worried about her husband’s reaction,” he said.

“He doesn’t care. That’s the problem. She is unloved.

She has money and a nice house, but the husband is cold. I don’t think you would like him,” Norma said.

“How do you know if I would like him? He has money, doesn’t he?” Tony teased.

“Oh you! I want to hit you, slap you hard. You need to get your own boyfriend. A nice boy from Thailand?” she said.

“Wrong country. My tastes are All-American. I like the real white ones. Maybe the men in Pasadena are more my taste. Can you fix me up with one in your neighborhood?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 213

The joshing went on, the banter, the inferences, the jokingly innocuous dialogue.

Edna changed into a dark blue cheongsam.

She walked, anxiously, around the back-storage room, and then she looked in the mirror, and sat down on the toilet and cried.

Her new look would never bring her love.

She washed her face with cold water, dabbed her eyes and patted her face with a towel. She put on her high heels, walked out of the bathroom and went up front to model the cheongsam and the Farrah Fawcett hair for Tony and Norma.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 214

Once on a High and Windy Hill

It was a grand idea.

After the unveiling, Tony closed the shop, and packed his gold Eldorado convertible with cold wine and chilled wineglasses and took the ladies up above Chinatown to a scenic hilltop with a view of downtown. The ladies rode in back and he drove in front like their chauffeur.

It was dusk and the sky was amber, the mood was elated.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 215

They parked along an empty street with skyline views.

The lights were on all over the city and the sun was lost behind. A silent truce was in effect between artificial and natural illumination and that moment of peace was the hour when the day slept and the night awoke.

Tony turned the engine off. They had parked along a denuded and treeless street of bulldozed lots, flophouses, run down mansions and dilapidated apartments, in an old district mangled and amputated by the scarring Hollywood

Freeway.

“What are we doing up here?” Norma asked.

“Get out and see,” Tony said.

He got out of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out a blanket. He came around with it and laid across the hood. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 216

He went back to the trunk and pulled out a paper bag with cold wine. He uncorked it and poured out two glasses, handing one each to Norma and Edna.

“If it’s comfortable for you, please sit up here on the blanket with the wine. We have the light, the city is lovely, and so are you. I have my Nikon F2 Photomic for this fleeting moment!”

The women got up on the hood of the car. Tony played an 8-track recording of “Love is a Many Splendored Thing” sung by Nat King Cole.

Love is a many splendored thing

It's the April rose that only grows in the early Spring

Love is nature's way of giving a reason to be living Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 217

The golden crown that makes a man a king

Once on a high and windy hill in the morning mist

Two lovers kissed and the world stood still

Then your fingers touched my silent heart and taught it how to sing

Yes, true love's a many splendored thing

Love is a many splendored thing

It's the April rose that only grows in the early Spring

Love is nature's way of giving a reason to be living

The golden crown that makes a man a king

Once on a high and windy hill, In the morning mist

Two lovers kissed and the world stood still

Then your fingers touched my silent heart and taught it how to sing

Yes, true love's a many splendored thing2

2 Songwriters: Sammy Fain / Paul Webster

Love Is A Many Splendored Thing lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing

LLC

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 218

The two women in their Farrah hair, in their cheongsams, drinking wine at dusk, sprawled atop the

Cadillac’s hood. The moment was unreal and glorious, preposterous, movielike, magical. Tony walked around the car capturing the women on film.

He was in love with his work. And he was in love, at that moment with his memories of Farrah, and his cousin and her best friend impersonating the dearest friend he had ever lost.

This was a post-mortem spectacle and salute to his relationship with Farrah, still the dearest, closest and most significant person he had loved in Los Angeles. The party on the hill was a flamboyant funeral for him.

He could not have it all. He cried when he photographed, tears of bittersweet joy, his clients unaware they were acting and impersonating another actress and his estranged friend.

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Tony went close to Edna and shot a close-up of her, alone, with the city lights glimmering in the background.

She was his proxy too, married to his lover, yet she was innocent of sin, unaware of the ménage à trois. She looked into his camera, a real, open-eyed face of vulnerability, unguarded, human; her emotion was too much for him. He was afraid of hurting her, afraid of his envy, he thought she had the man he wanted he thought.

“This is your movie. This is how you dreamed Los

Angeles. People love you. Smile my dear Edna, smile! Men dream of you as you dream of them!” he said, voice breaking.

Norma detected cruelty. She spoke to defend Edna.

“Cautious cousin. You are coming too close to the militarized border!” Norma said.

For Edna, playing Farrah at dusk, this moment was a dream set in the City of Angels. It was feeling of being beautiful and loved and wanted, adored by a man, held close by a friend who was just like a sister; it was a day of transformation, a night of celebration, an enchanting, transporting, intoxicating experience. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 220

Detour

After the shoot they drove back to Pasadena.

They went up the 110, Norma at the wheel, Edna looking out the window.

As they approached Highland Park, near Avenue 50, traffic came to a stop. Fire and police vehicles were visible through the trees, and in the distant hills, flames burning yellow and red sputtered hot.

“Every year a fire, every year no rain. I used to hate the monsoons. Now I am hungry for one. I’m getting off the freeway,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 221

She turned off at Marmion Way and followed a line of red brake lights crossing the bridge over the freeway, leading into a poor, lively old neighborhood of wooden houses and makeshift apartments.

There were taco sellers on the sidewalk, cars parked on dirt lawns, people sitting on porches and on curbs, dogs barking behind gates, old people talking outside.

There was life on the street.

They stopped at a light and a woman selling fresh cups of sliced fruit walked up to the car.

“Fruta fresca solo dos dolares!” she said.

The light turned green; Norma turned up Figueroa.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 222

“Do you know your way home?” Edna asked.

“Are you chicken? Of course, I do. Up Figueroa Avenue

64, La Loma, home!” Norma said.

“I never go down here. Isn’t that silly? I just am scared to drive on streets I haven’t driven down before!”

Edna said.

Avenue 64 ascended up into the lush, wooded affluence of Pasadena, a verdant contrast next to the old Highland

Park. Tall trees shaded the street, blonde haired children rode bikes. Edna was reassured to return to her own community.

They crossed another bridge that went over the gorge of the Arroyo and turned up S. Arroyo Blvd. Norma parked at

Westbridge Place.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 223

“I don’t think you that eager to go in,” Norma said.

“You’re right. I had so much fun today. I’m sure he’ll be waiting to ruin it,” Edna said.

Edna opened the car door, took her purse and then stood outside the car, on the curb to speak through the open passenger window.

“Perhaps I can walk up to your house for a glass of wine later,” Edna said.

“Wine? You had enough back at the salon. You need food,” Norma advised.

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“My nerves. I’m thinking of George’s reaction to my hair. And I might need a drink later,” Edna said.

The air was smoky.

“Do you think the fire is under control?” Edna asked.

Norma reached her hand over to the door ledge and grasped Edna’s elbow. “Don’t worry girl. Get some dinner.

Stay home and rest. You’ve had a busy, tiring day. Call me if you need support. Good night,” Norma said.

She drove away. Edna stood outside looking at her house. It looked warm and inviting.

She would have to enter it shortly to encounter that cold man inside.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 225

New Hairdo, Old Husband

Up the front walk she made her way, with hesitation.

She paused and bent down to pull up a weed next to her lavender and sage. She tossed the weed behind a hedge, pulled her keys out of her purse, unlocked the door, and walked into the front hall where she regarded herself in the mirror. Then she slipped off her heels. From now on her shoes would be off inside. Norma had taught her that.

There was silence in the house, nobody to greet her.

She looked in the mirror again and then she laughed.

She still wore Tony’s loaner cheongsam.

“What are you laughing about?” George asked.

“Oh, my goodness. You startled me. I still have this cheongsam on,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 226

“What have you been doing? Is this a costume? Is it

Halloween already? You are a white lady in a Chinese dress with a Farrah Fawcett hairdo. Do you know how ridiculous you look?” he said.

He was meaner than she even expected.

She ignored him.

“Where’s Ed? I want to see him,” she said.

“In the office helping organize my files. He has a sense of responsibility,” George said.

Edna walked over to the study where Ed sat on the floor with a spread of manila folders.

“Hello Eddy. How was your day?” she asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 227

He looked at his mother inquisitively. He burst out laughing.

“You really went hog wild Mom. Just like Farrah

Fawcett. And your dress is very nice,” he said.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Dad and I went out for dinner and had some burgers. I did my homework this afternoon. Did you know some Mexican illegals started the fire in Highland Park?” he said.

“Some people have less than we do,” Edna said.

“What do you think of your mother’s new hair-do?”

George asked.

“Like Charlie’s Angels!” Ed said.

“If Charlie’s Angels were 40,” George said.

“Fuck yourself,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 228

She walked back into the front hall, put on her shoes and went outside, walking down to Norma’s house.

Norma and Vincent were in their hot tub under the bubbling waters: intimate, whispering, kissing, giggling.

Bug candles in glass jars burned nearby along the deck.

“Hello there!” Edna said.

“Come in and join us!” Norma said.

“Yes, strip down and I won’t look, and you can come into the hot tub and relax. My fantasy with two Farrah’s!”

Vincent said.

“I really can’t. I came to fetch Rory,” Edna said.

Norma climbed out of the hot tub and put on a terry cloth robe.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 229

“We got lost having a good time in the hot tub. I think Rory and Lesley went for bike ride,” Norma said.

“A bike ride? In the dark? It’s almost 9pm. Where did they ride to?” Edna asked.

“Oh nearby. Sometimes they ride up to the bridge ride across, and come back down, it’s nothing to worry about.

Come inside and I will fix you something to eat,” Norma said guiding Edna into the house.

Norma looked behind and motioned to Vincent to follow along.

“Don’t look at my husband. He is naked!” Norma joked.

The doctor, alone for the moment, his pleasurable interlude with his wife interrupted, pushed himself onto the dry deck and tied a white towel around his waist. He walked, fit and wet, dripping, into the kitchen.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 230

Edna was upset.

“I wish they hadn’t gone off. I don’t let Rory wander into the Arroyo at night or ride up to the bridge.

Especially the bridge. That is one place I don’t allow him!” she said.

Norma looked at her calm rational husband, Tarzan in the kitchen. She play-acted some anger at him.

“How can you just stand there with that towel around you? Can’t you see Edna is very upset? You have to get dressed, go out and find those children!” Norma said.

He played to her mock fury.

“Yes, yes. Right away” he said.

It was another nervous night of sirens with fire trucks moving into Highland Park. Edna only thought of her son, out there, on his bike, riding in the dark, on the bridge. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 231

Norma calmed Edna.

“We have that big fire going on. Rory and Lesley are nowhere near that. Vincent is going out in his car, and he is getting the kids,” Norma said.

“I’ll be back in a bit. I know where to find them,” he said, jangling his keys near the side door.

Edna sat down at kitchen table. She buried her head under her hands and slumped down.

“I don’t know how I endure this. George is something else,” she said.

Norma brought a warmed-up plate of chicken and rice and laid it down in front of Edna on the table.

“You’re tired and hungry. Eat some food, please,”

Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 232

Edna forked into the chicken, lifting a piece of breast meat as if it were kettlebell.

“He ridiculed me. I would have rather married an impoverished sweetheart than him,” she said.

“You don’t mean that,” Norma said.

“I should divorce him. Let him go live somewhere else.

He is so mean to Rory because he looks more like a Lodge than a Gilmore. Ed is the favorite. George lavishes praise on him, takes him to work, let’s him work in his office at home. Ed is being groomed to take over. Rory is punished for everything,” Edna said.

Norma heard a car pull up. She stood up. Lesley and

Rory walked in with Vincent behind.

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“Where were you two?” Norma asked.

“We were riding in the cul de sac. We saw Edna walk up to the house. We were just playing. I’m sorry Edna. I apologize,” she said.

“I’m sorry too,” Rory said as he hugged Edna.

He held her tightly, pushing his head against her breasts as she stroked him. He looked up and caressed her face.

“Is that your new color? It is really pretty. You look so young mom,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 234

Mother and Daughter

The morning after, Lesley asked her mother a question:

“Did you really care that I went for a ride in the dark?”

Norma smiled.

“You did a good acting job. I don’t think it was good judgment to take Rory on that ride, but I didn’t care. What bothered me is not that you went out in the dark with him, but that you worried his mother,” Norma said.

“I was waiting for you to slap me in front of her,”

Lesley said.

“I’d take a bamboo cane and whack you if I could,”

Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 235

“To make my punishment more convincing?” Lesley asked.

“You’re just lucky you weren’t raised with the cane. I took a turnip cake from my grandmother without permission.

Whack! I dropped a chicken off the balcony. Whack! I put lipstick in the school bathroom and got caned. The cane was the law,” Norma said.

“I don’t think dad would allow me to be treated that way,” Lesley said.

“For better or worse, he is a modern American man. And no American uses a cane upon his children. You got lucky.

Sit down I have something to tell you,” Norma said.

“I plan to earn a real estate license. I can work in

Monterey Park for Sy Lu. He’s a bastard. But he is doing quite well with his Chinese buyers. We’ll have more money.

I think you’re old enough now to take care of yourself. And let mommy go out into the world,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 236

“Realtor? That sounds hard. I think you’ll probably be good at it,” Lesley said.

“I know I’ll be good. I’ll be the best,” Norma said.

Tony on the Move

They were broken up, not on speaking terms, but they still met for sex.

George came over to see Tony, at night, stopping by the salon on Temple Street for a haircut, followed by a massage on the table.

On this particular evening, a song played on the radio as Tony rubbed George’s shoulders.

“What’s playing?” George asked.

“After the Love Has Gone,” Tony answered.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 237

He poured oil onto George and sung the lyrics as the song played.

Something' happened along the way

What used to be happy was sad

Somethin' happened along the way

And yesterday was all we had

And oh, after the love has gone

How could you lead me on?

And not let me stay around?

Oh, after the love has gone

What used to be right is wrong

Can love that's lost be found?3

George turned over and lay on his back, eyes closed.

He was fully erect, waiting for Tony to jerk him off.

3 After the Love Has Gone (1979)David Foster, J. Graydon, B. Champlin. Produced by Maurice

White for Kalimba Prods. CBS Records, Columbia. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 238

Hands oiled, Tony reached down and jerked George off.

He didn’t look down. He just worked rhythmically, without feeling, mechanically, with the emotion and sensuality of a plumber installing a faucet.

George was heaving and breathing heavily. And then he shot out a load that Tony captured with a wet, hot, hand towel. Then he used another rag to wipe George off.

Tony wanted him out as quickly as possible.

He regretted having him over.

Meeting Edna had further inflamed Tony. He pitied the wife who knew nothing about her husband’s philandering. He pitied himself for taking measly, toxic, empty sex from

George. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 239

Tony knew that his own extralegal status in the relationship would never measure up. He would never be the equal to George. He would never be acknowledged as lover.

He was there only to relieve George.

As George dressed, Tony watched him anthropologically, noting his costume as a marker of culture.

Brooks Brothers blue cotton boxers, pleated khakis, blue and green silk banded wristwatch, blue oxford cloth shirt, brown leather penny loafers.

It was once so admirable. The upper class. But now it seemed so pathetic and unaesthetic.

“That’s how you dress,” Tony remarked.

“What do you mean?” George asked as he took out $100 and put the money on the massage table, not even bothering to make contact with Tony’s hands. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 240

“This is our last visit,” Tony said.

“You don’t want to continue our arrangement?” George asked.

“I sincerely don’t. I won’t be renting your space when my lease expires in January. I see no need to make plans with you for monthly activity. Am I clear?” Tony asked.

George walked to the back door. He opened it and left without saying a word.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 241

Norma’s Secret

Christmas was on the horizon, 1980 just beyond tomorrow.

After the boys went back to school, Edna busied herself.

She returned to work, two days a week, at the Pacific

Asia Museum, guiding visitors through courtyards and rooms of antiques whose origins she was still ignorant of.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 242

Some days she met up with her older friends, Harriet

Stevenson and Ginger Nordquist, wealthy women with wealthy husbands, women who were adornments to men, women whose kids were grown, women who never knew had a non-white friend, women from the post-war days of clubs, bake sales and golf. Harriet and Ginger, a type almost gone, were like

Baked Alaska, nearly extinct but still revered. Edna kept them around for sentimental reasons.

Ginger was a tall, lumbering woman who resembled Julia

Child. But Ginger couldn’t cook. She knew how to broil a steak, fry a lamb chop, and order take-out. Her jokes were vaudeville, taken out of the early days of television.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 243

“Egg Foo Young and Chop Suey. Aren’t those names funny? My husband sometimes teases me and calls me Legs Too

Young!” Ginger joked. She never read books, was unaware of current events, but could recall verbatim every episode of

“I Love Lucy.”

Harriet had a sporty and friendly middle-western personality, and she was unbothered by things, every easy going and cheerful. In that respect she was never a challenge to be around. She made no demands but carried a gravitas of wealth and importance underneath a façade of polka dots, flowered dresses, and navy sneakers.

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Harriet and Ginger were big supporters of Pacific

Asia, as well as garden clubs, libraries, and the symphony.

Their outer interests were benevolent and uplifting. But they retained their prejudices, they lived and played in restricted clubs, churches and communities, and thus they were exempt from feeling true pain or poverty but were merely agents of the ruling class who never held a job and married men who ran large companies and banks. Edna was just like them in her marriage, but she was philosophically a different human being, a tolerant liberal who just happened to float into the reactionary world of wealthy

Pasadena.

After Norma and Edna got their hair done, only a week until the huge event at the Norton Simon, they both had not picked out their evening dresses. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 245

Norma hadn’t called. Edna hadn’t called her either.

Was something wrong?

Edna without invitation went and knocked on Norma’s door.

Norma in large straw hat, holding a garden spade, came out from the back of the house. “I didn’t know you were here. I came to get the mail. Come in!” she said.

The kitchen table was full of notecards, colored pens, sharpies, legal pads, and a large book with yellow highlights.

“Lesley’s homework?” Edna asked.

“No mine,” Norma said.

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Norma closed the large black book on the table to reveal its title: California Real Estate License

Preparation, 1980.

“I’m studying for a real estate license. Until I passed the test, I didn’t want to speak about it. Bad luck.

But good luck for me in 1980. The eights are fortuitous, and we have an entire decade of the 80s coming our way. So,

I will sell houses next year. That’s why I haven’t had time to call,” Norma said.

Edna was relieved.

“I’m shocked. But so happy for you. That is wonderful.

Is there a place for you to start your career?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 247

“Yes. Sy Lu is an old patient of Vincent’s. He owns Lu

Realty in Monterey Park. They sell to the people from Hong

Kong and Taiwan. Thrifty people who save every penny. I know those people,” Norma said.

Uncurious about Mr. Lu, Edna focused on herself.

“I thought you were angry at me. And, instead, you were doing something with your life. Now I feel even more petty and insignificant,” Edna said.

“Self-pity doesn’t put rice on the table. Study with me and maybe you can get your license too,” Norma said.

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“One real estate mogul in the family is enough. Let’s talk shopping. I thought we could go down to Bullocks or I.

Magnin in the city,” Edna said.

“Sunday. I can slip away in the afternoon if I study very early in the morning. This may be my last chance to have a free day for a long while,” Norma said. She struck an elegiac chord, portending change.

Norma was going out and making something happen. Edna was drifting.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 249

That Sunday

That afternoon, they went to Bullocks on Lake Avenue.

They found nothing to buy so they went down to Beverly

Hills, to I. Magnin, where they picked out two outfits.

Edna chose Dior’s yellow-gold faille trousers, a gold- striped black silk organza camisole, black-silk chiffon bolero jacket beaded in gold and black flowers, and a black velvet cummerbund tied in a bow. She was yellow and black, a glamorously grounded butterfly.

Norma hooked up with Halston: modern, minimal, and luxuriant. She chose a gold-plated, sequin striped, black chiffon pajama, matching jacket and trousers threaded up and down with the shimmering, golden embroidery. The jacket had enormous, voluminous, billowy sleeves. Her blonde hair, golden fabrics, and golden high heels completed the ensemble, along with a bottle of Halston perfume, fruity floral, and expensive. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 250

They drank champagne served by saleswomen on silver trays.

Edna paid for both her outfit and Norma’s, totaling over $4,000. Norma was aghast. She protested. But she accepted it. She thought the gesture both excessive and ridiculous.

“You won’t be paying for my outfit. It’s not right. I would feel like a thief, taking advantage of you. I’m not your family,” Norma said.

“But you are my family,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 251

Edna saw Norma as her new sister, a partner in crime, with a streak of delinquency, a rebel Chinese girl in a blonde Farrah hairdo, a wine drinker, a swearing mother, a fighting friend and non-conformist who reveled in letting her daughter roam free, who made her husband amorous, who now left home to work selling houses. Norma brought adventure, love, and loyalty into Edna’s life, and Norma was a motivator for Edna. For all these grand reasons, paying for Norma’s expensive clothes was merely pocket change well spent.

After shopping, Norma and Edna stopped for lunch in

Westwood, at a garden restaurant with a brick paved patio, red and blue umbrella covered tables with iron chairs, white cloth napkins and flowery plates set under white lighted trees. They drank iced tea. And ate Cobb Salad, cold shrimps and cottage cheese and saltines and chocolate mousse parfaits. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 252

It was good to get out of Pasadena nearer the Pacific.

The air was refreshing, the people were collegiate, the crowd, in plaids and pullovers, congenial and youthful. The light filtered through green leaves from carrot wood and crepe myrtle trees.

Norma grabbed the check.

“Hands off bitch!” she said.

Edna was startled by her crudeness. It still stung to hear swear words.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 253

Norma stood up, wobbly, buzzed, light-headed, she held onto the back of a metal chair for stability.

“Me, a China girl, should, not I think, drink liquor.

You better drive us home. Here’s the keys,” Norma said.

They walked out of the restaurant as the ocean fog crawled back across the sky.

Edna drove them down Lindbrook Drive.

“Stop the car! Stop the car! My cousin!” Norma yelled.

Edna pulled over to the curb. Norma opened the door and ran out to Tony.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 254

“What a crazy coincidence!” Tony said. He was standing in front of an empty store dressed in KISS t-shirt, Calvin

Klein jeans and suede hat.

“What are you doing in Westwood?” Norma asked.

“Secret project. I’m going to rent this space, right here. This is where my salon will be. No more Chinatown.

Tony Wang is coming to Westwood!” he said.

“This is expensive!” Norma said appraising the 1930s red brick, red tiled building. There was an interior courtyard leased by boutiques, a setting of balconies, flowers and open to the breeze casement windows.

“Yes. Cheap bastard. He wanted a pound of my flesh but he can’t have it,” Tony said.

Edna came around, quietly.

“Hi Tony,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 255

“Hi there Edna. Ladies you will see me at the Norton

Simon. Your hair looks great, both of you. What do you think of my new shop? Fancy huh?” he asked.

“I think you’ve picked a very stylish space,” Edna said.

“Yes, for fucking sure. This is closer to where the rich people are. Five minutes from Beverly Hills, Belair, not to mention Brentwood and Westwood itself. Those bitches don’t like coming to Chinatown to get their hair done. I’m thinking we will have valet parking here. I can cut hair at my client’s houses if they request it now that I’m in their vicinity. I’ll charge the fuckers $400 and they will gladly pay for it,” he said.

Edna was revulsed at his language. But she smiled with closed lips, polite and taciturn.

“He has been obsessed, Song nou, since he came to the

US to get his ass out of Chinatown,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 256

“Damn right. They wanted to keep me in the prison on

Temple Street. The little Chinaman and his shop! All my bodyguards watching over me. Fucking landlord, fucking

Farrah. Oh. Strike that last line. My friendships with VIPs are secret,” he said.

“Cousin have you been drinking today?” Norma asked.

“A few. Celebrating my liberation. You caught me with my pants down. My dick hanging out on the sidewalk I guess,” he said.

Now Norma was mortified. Edna looked at her watch.

“You must be doing well. This is a fancy location.

Good for you,” Edna said.

He frowned. Something in her tone was patronizing.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 257

“You don’t think I belong here Edna?” he asked.

“No. Not at all,” Edna said.

“What is your problem? She is complimenting you! So damn prickly and sensitive,” Norma said.

“I only meant to compliment you. You are a very talented man and you belong wherever you choose to go!”

Edna said.

That seemed to mollify him. But he could not stop feeling her incitement.

“Just don’t come up to Pasadena. We have enough

Chinese already!” he said, imitating Edna, embarrassing

Norma.

“We have to get moving. Good seeing you cousin. We shall talk soon,” Norma said.

In the car, after they left, Norma was not happy. He presented appalling, gross, the opposite of how he was when he cut their hair and took their photos up there high atop that windy hill. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 258

They went slowly, locally, back to Pasadena. Every light was red, every car was brake lights.

Norma was silent, subdued.

She spoke up when they stopped at the red light on

Riverside, where the Mulholland Fountain cascaded orange and yellow lighted water into night sky.

“I truly apologize for my cousin. He had no right to speak to you like he did,” Norma said.

“He didn’t offend me. Really,” Edna said.

“When a Cantonese gets money, they turn into king shit,” Norma said.

“Everyone isn’t always perfect,” Edna said.

“He embarrassed me. After all he’s my cousin. What he said is a reflection on me,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 259

The Event

Wednesday, November 14, 1979.

The Norton Simon event.

That morning, at home, George was uncharacteristically giddy and whimsically sarcastic.

He sat at the kitchen table. He made a smiley face out of black coffee beans. He put a big aerosol whipped cream into his coffee mug. He was as excited as a child going to

Disneyland.

He rattled off for Edna the notables who were coming to the mental health fundraiser that evening at the Norton

Simon Museum.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 260

First Lady Rosalynn Carter (“Without her man thank

God”), Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, Shirlee and Henry

Fonda, Cary Grant and Barbara Harris, Carol Burnett,

Candice Bergen, Gore Vidal, Veronique and Gregory Peck,

Barbra Streisand and Dominick Dunne.

“Streisand and Dunne are coming separately, not together. Jennifer Jones is big on mental health as her daughter killed herself by jumping off a building in

Westwood a few years ago” he said without mercy, callously.

“We have something in common,” Edna said.

“Their foundation is starting with a million-dollar endowment. Carters, like Kennedys, are big on mental retardation, crazy people, sick people, a big hobby of theirs. They say liberalism is a disease. Makes sense,” he said. He walked out of the kitchen leaving behind his breakfast toast and half eaten scrambled eggs.

She picked up his dishes and took them to the sink. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 261

She followed him into the bedroom. He was in his robe, about to go into the shower.

“What do you think of your old friend Dominick coming tonight? Are you excited to see him?” she asked.

“I barely have a word to say to him. He is divorced I hear, trying sobriety, attempting to be a serious writer. I suppose he still travels in that Hollywood circle, so I hardly matter in his world,” George said.

“He did try to help you once. When you wrote Lincoln the Savior you told me he was very complimentary. Maybe you should dig it out again,” she said.

“That was ten years ago. I once dreamt of getting rich in Hollywood. I no longer do. I’m rich without Hollywood and that is the greatest satisfaction of all. Dominick nearly destroyed himself with drugs and alcohol. If I had hung around with him where would I be today? At least my morals are intact,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 262

“Reflective George. You better get on into the shower, the bathroom mirror is steaming up,” she said.

Beyond the bantering irony, it was the first conversation of reflectiveness, of self-examination, she could recall. Maybe this event, a swirling stew of luminaries, was a turning point for him, a way to boost his ego and better his attitudes by flattering his importance.

Impersonations

The 1980s were born in 1979.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 263

That year fashion embraced wealth and celebrated with glitz. It was a new time of theatricality for theatre, of fabric formed for affectations, a loud march of ostentatiousness by the most privileged demonstrating in furs, hats, diamonds, padded shoulders and power suits and designer denims. The natural look was glossed and airbrushed into oblivion. It was the extinguishing end of the egalitarian age in matters sartorial.

That November night, when Edna put on her Dior yellow- gold faille trousers, with her gold-striped black silk organza camisole, black-silk chiffon bolero jacket beaded in gold and black flowers, and black velvet cummerbund tied in a bow, she was the embodiment of 1979, touched with the last days of disco. Dynasty and Alexis Colby were just around the bend.

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Edna’s neck and shoulders were bare, her pale white skin exposed in dramatic contrast against black and gold fabric, her new blonde hair blown up in a frenesi of curls, whipped up and preposterously feminine, a siren without a caller.

Her eyes were outlined in two-tone grey eye shadow; her glistening lips were coral.

Edna went into the living room and said hello to Miss

Prescott, who had just arrived by taxi to stay with Rory when his parents went out.

.

Rory came with a glass of water for Miss Prescott. She sat down on the couch, smiling at the boy.

“I never get a chance to come to Pasadena. It’s always a treat. Real Americans live here. Not like my neighborhood,” Miss Prescott said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 265

“Hello there,” George said. He turned to Edna in front of Miss Prescott and presented two avocado green suede boxes from Van Cleef and Arpel.

She opened the first box.

It contained a yellow gold bracelet with five

Carnelian stone clover leaves, each leaf as red as blood.

She opened the second box and revealed the same style but in a necklace.

“The red stones protect against misfortune and fear,” he said.

“I don’t fear anything but you,” she said as she put the necklace on. The bracelet went on next. She regarded herself in the mirror.

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Miss Prescott watched with delight. “What a gift Mrs.

Gilmore. You are a lucky woman to have such a wonderful man!”

“This was quite an expense I imagine. I can’t believe you would go through all this for me. Thank you,” Edna said.

“They’re rented,” he whispered into Edna’s ear.

Conversations

The night was warm, the air was smoky, the Hollywood stars played at Norton Simon. And seven miles away in Eaton

Canyon a match was thrown out of a car window, and a fire started.

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For two hundred and ten guests, the reason to come was ostensibly to support a new mental health foundation endowed with one million dollars, overseen by actress

Jennifer Jones and her husband, multi-millionaire Norton

Simon.

First Lady Rosalynn Carter implored them to fight for mental health treatment. She praised their activities and noted several films that had taken on the issue. She held up Hollywood as the moral backbone of America, a creative industry whose behavior was emulated worldwide, whose duties included the fight for emotional wellness.

Mentally ill people were in hospitals, clinics and sanatoriums. The First Lady said it was time to free them and return them to their families and neighborhoods. Modern pharmaceuticals and psychiatry were on their way to conquering mental illness.

Noble words, promising.

Did anyone listen?

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They came to mingle, to eat Chasen’s Chicken Potpie and Pears Helene with vanilla ice cream, to drink vodka and champagne and to stand next to Paul Newman, Cary Grant and

Barbra Streisand.

The smoky air from the distant fire filled the sculpture gardens. It wafted around the men in dinner jackets and the women in gowns and jewels.

Norma was out in the garden, alone, in her blonde

Farrah hairdo, golden Halston sequin striped pajama outfit, gold stiletto open toed heels. She watched the guests from afar, from her dark corner, from that place, Edna discovered her.

“There you are! Finally, someone I know!” Edna said.

“I don’t feel well. The air is bad,” Norma said.

“Go inside then,” Edna said.

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“Where’s your husband?” Norma asked.

“Where is your husband?” Edna asked.

“The hospital. He got called in. I’m alone. Tony must be here, somewhere, but I don’t see him,” Norma said.

“Have you seen Miss Jones?” Edna asked.

“No. I talked tough and now I’m frightened of her. I have a stomachache. Excuse me while I find the ladies room,” Norma said. She left Edna and went inside the museum.

Edna watched the guests. She drank wine. She felt liberated.

George was somewhere. Edna didn’t care. She was deadened by drink, becalmed by music. Beyond the trees a quintet was playing “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” and there was more wine to drink.

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She went back to an indoor bar and converted into a gin and tonic. She wandered the galleries with her drink, and walked downstairs, into a dark, brown walled room filled with 14th Century Indian bronze humanoid sculptures.

She walked out to basement garden planted with bamboo around a gray stone Buddha on granite pedestal, a calm and oblivious deity.

Upstairs the band played “Tea for Two”. Edna moved to the beat, shimmying on the flagstone. She closed her eyes and listened to the music. She was alone. And then she was not.

“May I join you?” a man asked. Edna opened her eyes to a tall, white-haired gentleman in thick glasses and dinner jacket.

“Excuse me for intruding. I saw you through the window and thought why not?” he said.

Cary Grant spoke. He extended his hand. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 271

“Cary. How do you do?” he said.

“Edna Gilmore,” she said.

“Do you know you resemble Farrah Fawcett?” he asked.

“Yes, purely intentional,” she said.

They sat down on a flat edged marble bench in the garden.

He sipped a martini. She couldn’t look at him. She kept her eyes straight ahead.

“I can only stand these posh events with a drink. So many self-regarding people! Don’t people realize that being unknown is a blessing?” he said.

She smiled but had no answer. She could only listen to the legend who sat next to her.

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“Are you here alone?” he asked.

“George is roaming around,” she said.

“George? Your husband?” he asked.

“Yes. For now,” she said, amused.

“Barbara is upstairs too. Maybe your George and my

Barbara are romancing in the sculpture garden,” he said.

“Doubtful. May I ask you a question?” she said.

“Please,” he said.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

He deliberated in his distinctive way, with thumb and forefinger under his lip, as if he were carefully molding the right words.

“Happy? I should say mostly I have been unhappy. But that other man who plays Cary Grant, I’ve heard that he is very happy,” he said.

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“I’m playing Edna Gilmore tonight. I’ve heard that she has had a life of unfulfilled dreams,” she said.

“Just enjoy it while you can. My advice. You are a young lady. I’m only 75. Then again, what do I know? Are you from Boston?” he asked.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“I’m fairly good at regional American accents,” he said.

“I came here ten years ago. I thought I lost my accent. I guess not,” she said.

“I came to LA in the early 30s. But I have hated much of it. America’s best-looking people and ugliest city. It wasn’t ugly when I came here in the early 30s. But it’s been good to me I suppose. Enough about me. Are you happy here?” he asked.

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“If you asked others, they would say I am. I once thought I would find a man to make me happy, tell me what to do, guide me in life,” she said.

“A man doesn’t tell a woman what to do. She tells herself,” he said.

“Very wise,” she said.

“Ben Hecht wrote it. Hitchcock’s Notorious. Perhaps you’ve seen it?” he said.

“Ingrid Bergman and you. Gosh I’m so tired, I could sleep right here” she said.

She closed her eyes and fell asleep. Her head leaned on his shoulder. He let her stay undisturbed.

“Why don’t you rest? Close your eyes. Just dream good things,” he said quietly.

And then he leaned over, caressing her face, and he kissed her on the lips, barely, tenderly. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 275

She was in and out of wakefulness, an interlude between.

He let her lay down on the marble bench, taking a scarf and placing it under her head. He let her rest, he let her be, and he left.

Awakening

Still sleeping, she kicked her heels off, curled up.

For close to an hour she was out of it. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 276

The party continued, upstairs.

George, looking for his wife, wandered around the grounds into the parking lot, back into the museum, back out to the front steps, surveying the crowds. Near Rodin’s muscular male, he found Norma.

“Have you seen Edna?” he asked.

“No, I’m sorry. Everyone is lost. She went missing.

I’m waiting for my cousin. He was supposed to arrive an hour ago,” she said.

“I’m moving around this party like a single man and people are looking at me weirdly,” he said.

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As they spoke, Tony walked up a concrete ramp, dressed in a dark green suede shirt, and white flannel trousers over cowboy boots. He saw George and Norma together, and feigned unfamiliarity.

“About time. Hello Tony. This is George Gilmore, our family friend. George, Tony,” she said.

The men shook hands like they were strangers who just met.

“Nice to meet you sir,” Tony said.

“And you too,” George said.

Norma noticed George looking too long at her cousin.

Something registered.

“Good to meet you Tony. I’m sorry I must go back to the party,” George said.

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Tony explained his tardy arrival. He was cutting hair until 8. He went home to shower and dress and drove up the

Glendale Freeway jammed with fire and police vehicles.

“What was that?” she asked.

“What was what?” Tony asked.

“George Gilmore. You were weird when you met him,” she said.

“I know him. He was my landlord in Chinatown,” he said.

“George was your landlord? Why didn’t you speak up?

You acted like you were meeting for the first time,” she said.

“I don’t talk about every single personal relationship in my life,” he said, short and curt.

His evasion rankled her.

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“George is Edna’s husband. Edna, my best friend. You cut her hair, you spent most of the day with us, and you took our photos up on the hilltop overlooking the skyline.

And yet you never mentioned a word about your connection to

George?” she said.

“He helped me. He loaned me money, gave me a break on rent, allowed me to expand without charging me extra. You think I would go around screaming all that to his wife?” he asked.

“I’m not accusing you of some wrongdoing. I think it’s just not normal to hide your relationship to him,” she said.

“Normal. There’s a word. I’m tired and I need a drink not a grilling,” he said.

They stood outside at odds.

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She remembered something Tony said a few months earlier:

“A man comes to see my sometimes. He’s married, a white man from Pasadena. He is rich, and he has lots of properties, and he owns the building with my salon. So, I give him a massage. And then it becomes more. He comes by every few weeks. And one day it wasn’t just massage. It was us doing everything. Like I was his wife,” he said.

“Is he the married man you were seeing?” she asked.

Tony looked down, averting her eyes.

“Yes. Are you pleased Miss Detective?” he taunted.

She tugged his arm, to pull him away from other people, down into a nook on the side of the museum where nobody stood. They marched into a skirmish. She looked around to see that they were alone. Then she attacked.

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“Pleased? Horrified! You’re cheating with a married man. My best friend’s husband. I’m not going to tell anyone about this. Not Vincent, not Edna. It’s a rotten family secret. God help you if this destroys my friendship with

Edna. She won’t forgive me for hiding the truth,” Norma said.

“You don’t know gay life. You don’t know what I go through. You think being secret, hiding, lying, is my choice?” he asked.

“Don’t use the gay excuse for your behavior. You have to defend your honor. And your family,” she said.

“Family! You say it because you can be what you are and nobody will judge. You come here and get married to a doctor, you have a daughter, and live a good life. And me?

I come here and have to go into the back alley and give blowjobs. That’s the difference between us. We both make love to men, but you can do it with the blessing of family, and when I do it the world condemns me!” he said.

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“I don’t think I’ve ever heard such vile language. I wonder why I cared for you? I see you now for who you are: filthy, shameful, a disgrace. Selfish too! And a man who would destroy another man’s family for sexual pleasure,” she said.

Now he was in a rage and crying, tears pouring down.

But through his fury, his tenacity, his anger, his bitterness, he was unyielding, as forceful in his own defense and she was in her attack. He went after her, ripping into her self-righteousness.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 283

“You were always a bigger troublemaker than me. You caused your parents anguish. Grandma scolded you all the time. You stole food, you stole money, you ran around Hong

Kong like a slut! Then you married the big, handsome doctor and you ran away! A prostitute in a shabby cheongsam who travelled steerage, fish bones and fish heads in your bloody panties, escaping with your tattered reputation on a boat to America. And now you impersonate a proper woman in

Pasadena. What an act! No wonder you came to LA! Look at you with your fake blonde hair! No Chinese woman ever looked more ridiculous! That is the fucking truth!” he screamed.

She swung her arms and hands wildly like she was batting flies, hitting him with fast chops all over his face. He stuck up his arms to block her, but her nails reached into his face and she scratched him violently and mercilessly. Blood ran down his cheeks.

“You animal. You beast. Just die, die, die!” she screamed.

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And then he ran off into the parking lot. She sunk her face into her hands.

She stayed on the side of the museum and wept. Then she took her scarf. She dabbed her eyes and to dry them out.

And she went outside, around the exterior of the museum, avoiding people who may have seen the fight. She walked down the hillside, away from crowds, into the lower garden. She found Edna still napping on the bench in front of the Buddha.

Her friend was resting like a baby, asleep, deaf to the sirens; unaware of the smoky air and the blazing hills, deaf to the orchestra playing, dozing through the laughing and the drinking, dozing and dreaming through the fight, contentedly.

Edna, so innocent, so unaware, of the battles and of the celebrations swirling all around.

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Norma bent down, motheringly touching Edna’s forehead, awakening her.

Edna was up but hazy, clearly, mostly, lingeringly intoxicated. She heard music and smiled.

The band played Jerome Kern’s “They Didn’t Believe

Me.”

“I guess I fell asleep. I’m not used to drinking. Gin and wine and no food. I didn’t eat a thing all day,” Edna said.

“What are you doing down here?” Norma asked.

“Something happened. It was not a dream,” Edna said.

“What did you dream?” Norma asked.

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“It wasn’t a dream. I was here, alone, and Cary Grant came and sat down. We spoke. I closed my eyes. And then, I think, I’m sure, he kissed me. And that is the last thing I remember. I fell asleep with the wine and the gin and his kiss,” Edna said.

“You came down here to get away and you dreamt a beautiful dream with Cary Grant. Now you’re awake and

George wants you,” Norma said.

Edna stood up, dazed, wobbly in heels, messed blonde curls.

“You don’t believe me. I’m not lying,” she said.

“Just get yourself together. I’ve had a bad squabble, a knockout fight with my cousin. He went home and I just want to go home,” Norma said.

“What happened?” Edna asked.

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“I don’t want to discuss it. Just know he is a on my enemy’s list,” Norma said.

“He lied to you?” Tell me. I’m your friend,” Edna said.

“He had a big, dramatic, flamboyant explosion that truly embarrassed me,” Norma explained.

“Oh, so horrible. This event was going to be the highlight of our year,” Edna said.

“I still want to go up and see Miss Jennifer Jones.

But I have to return you to George,” Norma said grabbing

Edna’s arm.

They walked, arm in arm, past the Indian deities, up a spiral staircase to the main event. As the women ascended,

Norma advised.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 288

“Make sure your husband is happy at home. Don’t leave him alone. A man alone is a man in trouble,” Norma said.

“I Saw Gregory Peck!”

She was in a tizzy.

Ginger Nordquist, bubbly in her long sequined, turquoise gown, held a glass of champagne. She was eager to tell her husband Gilbert talking to George, about it. She pulled up in a spot next to them waiting for them to pull out of conversation so she could speak.

“I just stood in the bar line behind Gregory Peck! He was right in front of me,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 289

“Man in the Gray Flannel Suit. Nice,” Gilbert said.

The CFO of Sunkist West Coast was not to be interrupted.

“You don’t care. You really don’t,” she said, deflated.

The men went on and talked as if she weren’t there.

“They are clearing out that slum area south of

Colorado, the old black area. I think they’re leaving the

Baptist Church but everything else is getting knocked down.

It’s about time. Get rid of the blacks and the area will revive,” Gilbert said.

“Colorado Blvd. is almost a skid row. The better people want to shop in malls. Nobody walks on the street to go shopping anymore,” George said.

“My wife drives to Beverly Hills just to buy panty hose,” Gilbert said.

“Your wife is standing right here! Didn’t you hear me?

I saw Gregory Peck!” Ginger said.

“Who saw Gregory Peck?” said Harriet Stevenson, who surreptitiously joined the group along with Edgar,

President of the First Sierra Madre Bank. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 290

“I did. He was right in front of me. I saw him in

“Gentleman’s Agreement.” Remember that film? Dorothy

McGuire?” Ginger said.

“Did he say anything to you?” Harriet asked.

“He didn’t have to! He was standing right in front of me,” Ginger said.

“Norton Simon throws quite a party,” Edgar said.

“Nobody cares about Norton Simon! It might as well be

Neil Simon! Damn you all!” Ginger said.

“He has all his Hollywood people here. Came to

Pasadena like a bull in a china shop. Took over the

Pasadena Art Museum. Throwing around his money very loudly and aggressively,” Edgar said.

“Pasadena is changing. I guess we’re opening up. The whole San Gabriel Valley is getting bought up by the

Chinese,” George said.

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“It’s a great thing you are now San Gabriel Valley

Republican Party Chairman. God knows we need Ronald Reagan to come in and lower taxes. Maybe he will stop this crazy taxation of business owners. California is going downhill.

I can see Pasadena in thirty years, all Chinese. They are even holding services in Chinese at the Presbyterian Church near the Post Office. All the nice people are moving to

Orange County. We are going downhill fast,” Edgar said.

“Where the heck is your wife?” Harriet asked George.

“I sent Norma to go look for her,” George said.

Norma and Edna came into the hall. They looked over beyond at George and his group.

“I don’t want to go there. Ginger, Harriet, all nauseating,” Edna said. She was still shaky, supported by

Norma, who wrapped an arm around her.

“C’mon. You need to make an appearance,” Norma said.

The pair, in matching Farrah hair, came into view. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 292

Harriet turned and saw them.

“Oh, my goodness they’re twins!” she said.

“Hello,” Edna said.

“What an utterly gorgeous necklace,” Ginger said as she fondled Edna’s rented red cloverleaf necklace with its gold chain.

She turned to compliment Norma.

“You look like more like a movie star than the real movie stars!” Ginger said.

“Do you like these? George picked them out. He rented them for me,” Edna said.

They took her jibe as joke and laughed.

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“That dry Boston wit. Right out of Hah-vahd Yard,”

Harriet joked.

“Rented I’m sure! We know your husband can afford to buy them,” Ginger said.

She tugged at Edna’s sleeve.

“Guess what? I was in line for champagne right next to

Gregory Peck!” Ginger said.

“Well I was kissed by Cary Grant in the moonlight tonight!” Edna said.

Everyone laughed.

“Old Cary gets around. I think he’s had six wives. Why not Edna?” Edgar joked.

Norma smiled, lips closed, silently observing. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 294

“I thought I saw you earlier with a good-looking

Chinese man. Not your husband,” Harriet said.

“Are you sure?” Norma asked.

“It was you. I mean I’m not great at telling your people apart, but that was you. Same outfit,” Harriet said.

“My cousin Tony. He didn’t feel well and had to leave early. Thank you for your concern,” Norma said.

“Oriental women respect their man. They don’t fight.

They listen. You could take their example Harriet!” Edgar said.

Norma listened. No reaction. No rebuttal.

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Long ago she made a bitter, pragmatic peace with the self-confident stupidity of white men with inherited privilege, old money, top schools. They always attributed their individual success to hard work.

She knew otherwise.

Their moronic utterances persuaded people, their unhinged forecasts moved markets, their erroneous ideals guided foreign policy, their superstitions, their postulations and their predictions, conceived in peanut- sized brains nourished by gin and tonics, these were the people who stood next to her, here in Pasadena, at a party benefiting mental health.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 296

Jennifer Jones, the star of the evening, stood next to the staircase, imparting good-byes to all the guests.

Preserved by surgery and cosmetic paint at 60, she was still a perfect Hollywood star in her figure-molded black silk gown, polished shoulders and bare upper back. She lorded over the room, a legend from another time.

Alone, stealthily, Norma approached the actress, standing to the side, waiting politely to step forward and speak.

Then Ms. Jennifer Jones greeted her.

“Hello. My name is Norma Loh. You came to my family home in Hong Kong in 1954. We helped you when you had an accident. I was a teenage girl, and you were the first and only movie star I have ever met,” Norma said.

“Oh, delightful! Yes, I made a tremendously important film there. Thank you for coming tonight. I’m pleased to meet you again Norma,” Jennifer said.

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“I have wanted to tell you something for 25 years,”

Norma said.

“Yes dear, please,” Jennifer said.

“You barged into our little shop when we were eating.

You shouted, interrupted and demanded. My poor, exhausted mother had to clean you off after you shit in your underpants. You had no respect for our family. You thought you were high and mighty and we were your little servants.

You acted like an arrogant, entitled, spoiled bitch. I’ve waited 25 years to tell you,” Norma said.

The actress’s face dropped. She was appalled. She said nothing. She smiled and shook the hands of the next people who were leaving the party.

Norma walked out of the museum, relieved to finally tell off Jennifer Jones.

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Upset at Home

Rory had been uncontrollable.

Miss Prescott stood outside on the driveway, relieved to relinquish her babysitting, and told George and Edna the boy had acted up.

The night of stars became a story from hell.

It happened out of nowhere. She said he tore through the house screaming. He smashed a yellow vase. He went out onto the lawn screaming. Lesley chased after him, but he ran around and yelled. He said the fire smoke was choking him. Nothing calmed him down. She feared he would run out into the street and get hit by a car.

Norma drove up in her car. She saw Miss Prescott standing outside talking with Edna and George. She knew something was wrong. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 299

“Rory?” Norma asked as she exited her vehicle.

“Who else?” George said.

He walked back into the house.

“He broke a vase. No big deal. And he was screaming.

Which boys do,” Edna said.

“No, it was a meltdown,” Miss Prescott said.

“Ok. Enough. I know my boy,” Edna said.

The three women, two in formal attire, stood on driveway, porch lights on. The night was tense. The air was thick. There was shame and regret inside each woman.

“Let me call Vincent,” Norma said.

“No. Just let it be. I’m mortified enough tonight. I don’t need an EMT,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 300

“This was all my fault,” Miss Prescott said.

A green taxi pulled up to the curb.

“That’s my ride. Well thank you for allowing me to stay with your boy. I hope I haven’t lost your respect,”

Miss Prescott said.

George walked outside, holding a bag from Van Cleef &

Arpels. He handed it to Miss Prescott.

“Please return it to tomorrow to that place on

Wilshire, the name escapes me,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 301

“I guess you need these,” Edna said. She unhooked her necklace and bracelet, handing the jewels to Miss Prescott who took the sparkles and bagged them for the ride. She got into her taxi and left.

“I’m terrified,” Edna said.

“You will get the support you need from Vincent. Call him tomorrow,” Norma said.

“The whole evening, a wonderful night went up in smoke. Something malignant and evil happened tonight. We had looked forward to this for months. Now we are in ruins,” Edna said.

Norma saw Lesley yawn. Her daughter walked over to an

Adirondack chair on the front lawn and curled up into it.

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It was after midnight. The women were still in their blonde Farrah hairdos, still dressed in their elegant gold outfits with sparkling effects. They stood like accident victims, in the hung-over hour, battered by events, beaten up by fate.

“Vincent works with child psychologists, neurologists, and pediatricians. This is Los Angeles. We have the best health care system in the world. Someone will know what to do about Rory,” Norma said.

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“I’m so tired. An expert from Harvard once told my parents something like that. McLean Hospital, Harvard

Medical School. Bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, mania, depression. They said they knew. I have heard it all before. I thought this madness ended when my sister died. I came to make a fresh start in the Golden State. I can’t bear to see Rory suffer. Not him,” Edna said.

Edna said good night to Norma, and made her way, depleted and exhausted into the house.

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Man Fook Low

After the party, Norma carried heavy, troubling secrets.

She was devastated by her violent fight with Tony.

She did not want a broken family. Now she had one. She knew he was the other man in George Gilmore’s life, a wrecker of norms, and vandalizer of the sacred trust between a husband and wife. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 305

Norma wished she never knew the truth. She wanted to attach the poison apple back onto the tree.

She dare not speak to Edna about George, a talk that would only turn ugly, bringing up marital infidelity, homosexuality, and lies. Tony had shamed two families; especially though, his actions had sullied and tarnished hers.

Converting to tough realism and stoicism, she went back to her dark hair. Gone was her recent playfulness, her experiment with blonde hair.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 306

Nothing was funny now. Gravitas replaced levity. Her life was earnest, she had to bury her pain in work and move on.

She found a hair salon in San Marino where they restored her black hair and cut off the ends. She wore her new hair locked in place with a dark green grosgrain hair ribbon. Green was the color on her head, in her mind, the green of dollars.

Sometimes she wore her hair without restraints and turned to Joan Collins for inspiration. On those days she was a businesswoman with spiky hair, strands pointed upward like the bull market.

She studied diligently and passed the California Real

Estate license test.

After the storm, money was forecast.

Studying hard had a benefit. It distracted her from the tension and unease of personal drama. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 307

She was determined to get wealthy, to get her piece of action. Fueling her ambition was a strong desire to escape home and family and find her own peace through work.

Vincent, ever desirous for Norma, pursued her like a newlywed.

He had a weight bench set up on the outdoor patio.

When he had time, very early in the morning, he would work out. He finished up, came inside, showered and went after

Norma.

It was a love routine they both got used to. It often happened on Sunday morning, sometimes when Lesley was out- of-the-house, riding her bike.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 308

After the Norton Simon party Norma changed. She got short-tempered. She pulled away. She was irritable, preoccupied, seemingly uninterested in sex or conversation.

He asked what was wrong. She told him she needed energy for her new career.

He tried flattery. He complimented his girl for her hair. She said she was a woman, thank you.

“Does the woman want to go down to Man Fook Low for lunch today?” he asked.

He was referring to their old favorite restaurant, a humble Cantonese place down on San Pedro Street near the

Produce Market.

“Ok. Let me shower first,” she said.

“Can I come in too?” he asked.

“Come in and get wet but don’t expect anything more.

I’m not in the mood today,” she said.

He declined her offer. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 309

He went into the den and found Lesley watching TV.

He sat down on the sofa next to her.

“Can I interrupt your viewing?” he asked.

“What?” she asked.

“What? Is that how you address me? We’re going to get lunch downtown. And I want to ask you about your mother.

Have you noticed any change in her mood lately?” he said.

“Yes, she is always screaming at me about something.

My room isn’t clean. I’m not studying hard. She is a real bitch now,” Lesley said.

“Please. Don’t say that word. When did her moodiness start?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 310

“I don’t know. I guess since the party. I think she fought with cousin Tony. But she told me nothing. She just said I was not allowed to contact him. She is really uptight,” Lesley said.

“Ok. Thank you. Get ready please. We’re leaving to get lunch downtown,” he said.

He was relieved that he was not the probable cause of his wife’s unhappiness.

They sat at a round table inside Man Fook Low, the restaurant was air-cooled, sparse, a working man’s place with a long counter, scattered tables fluorescent lights and tile floor.

They ate spareribs with black bean sauce, bird’s nest soup, almond chicken, shrimp fried rice, duck noodles, steamed fish, hot tea, lychee fruit and almond cookies for dessert. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 311

Tommy, a 50-year-old, longtime waiter stopped by. “How are you liking everything doctor?” he asked.

“Enjoying everything. Good home food,” Vincent said.

“What brings you down here? Celebration?” Tommy asked.

“My wife is now a licensed real estate broker. We are celebrating,” Vincent said.

“Congratulations. If you put your mind to it you can do anything in America,” Tommy said.

“I’m going to work with Sy Lu. Do you know him?” Norma asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 312

“Sy Lu? Sy Lu? Ah, yes! Big deal in Monterey Park.

He’s from Toishan like me. He was in here last month. Red

1980 Fleetwood Cadillac. He gets a new car every other year!” Tommy said.

“How is your family?” Vincent asked.

“My wife Nancy is good. Victor, Annie, Timmy, all good. How about you young lady? Are you getting all A’s in school?” he asked.

“Mostly,” Lesley answered sullenly.

“Mostly! Well I hope that means high marks. Get a good degree, business, law or medicine. You need to grow up and become an accomplished person. Make your family proud,” he said.

“I know. I’m going to do exactly as they tell me,”

Lesley answered.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 313

“Well thank you for coming here. I am so delighted to see you all and I hope you come back soon,” Tommy said.

He walked away, facing the table, as if they were royal.

Norma looked angrily at Lesley.

“I don’t like that mostly answer. You don’t tell people outside the family you mostly get good grades! Tell them a nice lie. And let them think you get perfect marks!”

“I’m not a liar. I don’t make up things,” Lesley answered.

“When you tell someone outside the family that you are not doing well in school it makes us look bad!” Norma said.

They finished eating in silence. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 314

Vincent paid the check. He walked out first to bring the Oldsmobile sedan up front. He pulled up and Norma and

Lesley got in. They waved to Tommy who stood outside seeing them off.

A few feet from the restaurant entrance, a bearded man in a filthy suit lay on the sidewalk with an empty bourbon bottle in his hand. Tommy motioned inside.

Moments later two busboys came out with a metal bucket of bleach-diluted water. They dumped it on the vagrant.

“Get out of here you bum!” a busboy yelled as the soaked, intoxicated man stumbled down the alley.

Lesley watched it from the rear window of the car.

“Did you see that? They dumped water on that bum!”

Lesley yelled. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 315

Norma, sitting in front, turned around to her daughter.

“Let that be a lesson for you. If you don’t get good grades in school, you will end up like that drunk!” she said.

The New Rules

On the kitchen table was a Sunday Los Angeles Times and a Thomas Guide map book opened to Monterey Park. There was a yellow legal pad penned with lists of clients, addresses, and telephone numbers. A red telephone was plugged into the wall and sat on the table. And there was a coffee mug, emptied of coffee but full of pens, pencils, and a protractor to annotate the printed papers.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 316

Norma had mapped out her territory, pinpointing homes for sale found in the classifieds. She took a yellow highlighter marker and diligently colored the properties she wanted to see.

Sy Lu, her new employer was an old man. He had a dozen women working for him speakers of Mandarin, Cantonese,

Shanghainese, Hokkien and English.

His busy office, near Atlantic and Garvey in Monterey

Park, was located in a plain, cinderblock fronted shop with opaque glass blocks.

Norma was reminded of Hong Kong walking into the buzzing offices with realtors who shared desks, and sometimes worked two or three at one table. Shared desks were like shared beds, the ones slept in by her grandmother by day and her father at night. The concept of space, privacy and autonomy was unfathomable at Lu Realty. The room was smoky, chaotic, loud, and chatty. It moved constantly, unceasingly, pushing along, like a colony of ants. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 317

A poster board chart hung on the wall in dead center of the office. In grid formation, it posted the highest and the lowest sellers, so everyone knew who was winning or losing, who were the laggards and who were the leaders.

Losers were shamed and put out if they didn’t produce. The punishment was quick and brutal, nobody protested or made excuses, it was ruthless and efficient.

The ever-present dollar, knocking over your opponent to get at it, was the object in this ruthless room of hard asses.

Norma, like everyone, worked on 100% commission.

She was on duty, seven days a week, 16 hours a day, for potential clients and current ones, servicing buyers and sellers; greeting strangers whose weekend hobby was traipsing through open houses.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 318

She booked plumbers, painters, housekeepers, gardeners, pest killers and screen repairmen. She arranged for thee annihilation of termites, mice, rats, ants, bees, spiders and backyard mosquitos.

Sy Lu yelled and barked at the women, swearing in

Cantonese, using every vulgarity, and nicknaming his workers after animals.

He called his saleswomen: lazy dogs, fat moose’s, slow asses, and scared birds.

Betty Kow became Betty Black Cow, Linda Low was Linda

Slow and Nancy Tong became Nancy Turtle. He had everyone check-in by time clock. They ate lunch in the back near the bathroom.

Nobody moved fast enough. No answer was quick enough.

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He parked his spotless red Cadillac directly behind the back door of the shop, in the only parking space available under the hot alley sun.

His front bumper was inches from the rear exit.

Employees had to squeeze out the back-steel door without hitting his car. He observed how the women exited. And God help those who opened the back door too wide.

At weekly Tuesday morning meetings everyone stood up and told him exactly what was on the market, in escrow, who might be selling or closing. He quizzed each woman on what the market price for a house should be.

“Two bedrooms. Big lot. Nice neighborhood. Near Valley and Garfield. How much Nancy Turtle? Ok. Too slow. $78,000!

Not $67,000! $78,000! With a few offers you might get

$85,000. You can earn $4,000 if you are smart! Run like a rabbit, not a turtle!” he screamed.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 320

The abuse, nasty and unpleasant, was expected. Sy Lu, was more than a boss, he was a strict parent. His insults were lessons. He demeaned to teach.

For Norma working here was like coming home, back to her teachers in Hong Kong who threw blackboard dusters at stupid and lazy students. Her instructors, disciplinarians all, tolerated no dissent, no self-pity, nothing less than complete subordination.

Sy Lu channeled these men and women from the old days.

He made his office a military school where the students were broken down, belittled and criticized daily. Praise was never spoken aloud, only critique.

Were his methods just or fair? His success and his financial achievements answered that question. As long as he was the top realtor in the Chinese market, his way was the right way. And Norma fought to get her place at the top.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 321

At home, she borrowed some of her boss’s methods to bring order to her own family.

She started in on Lesley, now addressing her as

“Lesley Ann”. She drafted her 8th Grade daughter as a personal assistant to find and map out properties.

Early Sunday mornings, Lesley, with Pop Tarts at the breakfast table, was already working for her mother, researching streets and neighborhoods and highlighting districts to canvas.

The Thomas Guide was their Bible.

“This is the Thomas Guide. It’s a map book that lists every single street in greater Los Angeles. You are going to learn it. Everyone must know the Thomas Guide!” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 322

Lesley was tired and bored, yet she complied, opened the book, her monotonized face scrunched into her fist as she turned the pages.

“Go to the very back of the book, into the index. I want you to locate Huntington Drive and Fair Oaks Avenue in

South Pasadena,” Norma said.

“Huntington, Huntington. OK. I got it. It says Page 47 and then C-4,” Lesley answered.

The girl rifled through the pages and smiled as she opened Page 47. And parked her eyes at the intersection of

Huntington Drive and Fair Oaks Avenue.

Norma handed Lesley a typed-up list of properties for sale in South Pasadena, Alhambra and Monterey Park.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 323

“This is one thing you are going to help me with. You need to go through these listings and locate the streets where the properties are. Next to each address I want you to write the page number and the coordinates from the

Thomas Guide into the list. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Lesley said.

Norma had been standing. Now she sat down to look eye- to-eye at Lesley.

“I will be busier than hell from now on. I can’t watch over you the way I did before. I never really did. Now I will have no time for you. You are going to have to be independent and self-reliant. Get your own lunch and dinner. Do your homework on time, and don’t, pardon my language, fuck up! You are in high school next year, so you’re practically a grown woman,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 324

“What if I have to get a hold of you for an emergency?” Lesley asked.

“Excellent question. Mr. Lu’s office has a 24-hour answering service. You can call it anytime and leave me a message. The number is 435-7666,” Norma said.

Lesley looked at the phone with its letters above each number and converted 435-7666 into two words.

“I’m going to call that number H-E-L-P-M-O-M That’s how I’ll remember it,” Lesley said.

“Oh dear. I hope you never have to say those terrible words to reach me on the telephone. Very clever!” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 325

The First Listing

Sy Lu called Norma into his office.

He sat she stood. He smoked and looked through papers through thick glasses.

It was their first private meeting.

The old man wore a powder blue, wide-lapelled suit with a thickly knotted, red colored 4” wide necktie. His words were direct, spoken through stained teeth.

“They tell me you are a loud person. A big talker.

Barking Dog Norma, tell me about yourself. You are from

Hong Kong?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 326

“Yes. Born and raised. I came to the US with my husband and daughter ten years ago,” she said.

“You were born in 1940 so now you are 40. Not young, not old, middle aged. You were in Hong Kong when the Japs invaded, huh?” he asked.

“I was a year and a half old. My parents hardly spoke about the war after it was over. But my grandmother took it up one day when I was 9. She told me her son was thrown over a cliff, and an uncle’s wife was beheaded in front of her husband, another brother stabbed with a bayonet in a hospital bed, and a little auntie raped by a Jap,” she said.

“They were brutal. I hate them to this very day. Now we have good times. We are only asked to work hard. No army is invading, no bombs are dropping,” he said.

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He talked, lit a cigarette, looked through documents, signed papers, flicked ashes, ambidextrous.

“Cruel times. I was much older than you. We had to fight for our lives. We had to struggle to eat. as the

Americans say it was no picnic. Anyway, go see if your big mouth can sign up a prospect today. A house on Monterey St. in Alhambra where an old couple lives. Two bedrooms, one bath, worth about $75,000- here is the address, their number. Go,” he said.

She took the paper. She went to call the number on it, but someone was sitting at her desk. She left the office and walked to a nearby pay phone and spoke to Dorothy who said that her husband was ill, they had to sell soon, and they planned to move in with their children in Rancho Palos

Verdes. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 328

The call ended and Norma stood at the pay phone thinking. The old, weary voice on the phone made her sad.

The name Dorothy sung in her head over rainbows.

She drove to Dorothy in Alhambra to a gray Cape Cod near Valley Boulevard on a street with many little lookalikes. An American flag was posted atop a wood railing on the front porch covered by white flowered vines, along a neat lawn with trim box hedges, under windows shaded by metal Venetian blinds and tinted orange poly film.

The house looked lived in by old-time, white

Americans. People who moved in after the war, went to church and ball games, baked pies, washed cars on their driveway.

She knocked on the door.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 329

An old, white-haired, Japanese-American woman in a white t-shirt and loose, drawstring cotton pants answered the door.

“Hello, please come in. Dorothy Oshima. Welcome to our home. My husband Ned is in the dining room,” Dorothy said.

Norma walked in and slipped off her shoes.

Ned grabbed onto a walker, lifted himself from his chair, and leaned forward extending his hand to Norma.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Oshima,” Norma said.

“Ned please. I’m hard of hearing so my wife will do the talking,” he said.

“Lovely home. Mr. Lu said you are anxious to sell,”

Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 330

“Reluctantly. We have lived here since 1949, the first, practically the only Japanese-American family on the block, believe it or not. It was all white here. But we loved Alhambra. It’s a nice town. Now we are going back to the ocean. Not far from San Pedro where we lived before the war,” Dorothy said.

“How did you come to Lu Realty?” Norma asked.

“He has been our friend for a long, long time,” Ned said.

“I see. I’m the newest lady in his office. But I am very ambitious. And Mr. Lu, as you can imagine, expects a lot from me. I hope we can do business. May I look at your home?” Norma asked.

“Of course. Go right in,” Dorothy said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 331

It was a short trip through a tiny kitchen of black and white linoleum; two, small, dark bedrooms, furnished with two twin beds. The house was hot, stifling. Windows were open and electric floor fans pushed heavy dead air all around.

The smell of Lysol and Cashmere Bouquet perfumed the bathroom.

A back-hall door opened into a garden patio paved in cement. Beyond the pavement was a small, grassy yard with avocados, oranges, limes and lemons surrounded by a chain- link fence. A Beware of Dog sign hung on the gate to the alley.

Dorothy, in coral bucket hat, stood in the shade, hiding from the sun.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 332

“It’s not much. But we’ve enjoyed every minute of our life here. We know what a privilege and blessing it is to have a home to call your own,” Dorothy said.

“Where I come from, Hong Kong, nobody has a house and garden except for a few wealthy people. What about you?

Where were you born?” Norma asked.

“Both born in this country, native Californians, but our parents, both sets, came from Wakayama, Japan in the early 1900s. We all lived on Terminal Island near San

Pedro, a little fishing village where they caught tuna and abalone and canned the fish. 3,000 families. We had stores, barbershops, churches, schools, a bakery, and a butcher, you name it. The men went out to fish. And they left the women and children behind. It was lovely. We never locked our doors,” Dorothy recalled.

“So lovely. I would love to go there,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 333

“You can’t. It’s gone. After December 7, 1941, the FBI came and arrested the men, then Roosevelt signed Executive

Order 9066, and we were all deported. We lived for the duration of the war at Manzanar in the Owens Valley. The

Navy demolished everything on Terminal Island. Our whole town. Every house, every business, destroyed. We only have memories,” Dorothy said.

There was a moment of recognition and silence. And nothing to say, for what could be said, to commemorate something so unjust and so sad. The old woman’s memories, her vivid recollections, reminded Norma of her losses, her parents, her grandparents, the wars that came and went killing, robbing, upending the lives of nations, families, innocents.

“You were very brave to come all the way to Alhambra and start all over again,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 334

“I stayed the course. I kept doing what I’ve always done, as a wife and a mother. You survive. And you can’t choose what the crazy world does to you. You are born at a certain point in time and you become the enemy. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. But you are still the enemy, even to your fellow countrymen. That’s life,” Dorothy said.

“I want to tell you something. I hope you won’t be offended. I was told terrible things about the Japs. I thought there was no race of men eviler. I never learned about what you, an American from Jap parents, went through in America. I just heard about the Jap army and how brutal and sadistic and inhuman they were. So, I came up in life not liking anything Jap,” Norma said.

“You can call the Jap Japanese. It’s easier on my ears, not to mention my heart,” Dorothy said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 335

“Oh dear. Please forgive me, because somewhere in my cold heart, I still had a hatred for Japanese, and I want to expunge it, I want to get it out of my system. Because I am now an American, as you are an American, and this is our nation, and this country is our home and we are all

Americans together. And I don’t want to import hate,” Norma said.

“I’m not offended at all. I’d rather work with a matter-of-fact person who tells me directly what she thinks. So many in this city are phony. Especially the realtors with their pasted-on smiles and glib talk. Let’s work together and we are going to get the best price for this home. Consider yourself hired Norma. We are happy to have you as our agent!” Dorothy said.

The two women shook hands, and then, rather unexpectedly, they embraced one another, in genuine affection.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 336

Norma walked right into Sy Lu’s office and dropped the signed Oshima contract right on his desk.

He looked at it and then he looked up.

“So Barking Dog. You brought back a bone. How much did you negotiate? 6 percent and nothing less I hope,” he said.

“Right on the nose. They were a nice couple. She reminded me of my mother,” she said.

“Dorothy and Ned are good people. Look after them. Go forth. I’m busy now,” he said.

The Two Factions Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 337

They were at Norm’s on LA Cienega eating Sunday morning waffles, scrambled eggs, blueberry pancakes and bacon, and maple syrup over all, father and son, George and

Ed.

“Conservative. What does that word mean to you?”

George asked.

“I don’t know. Reagan?” Ed answered.

George bit into a bacon strip.

“What it means is to conserve. To value something, guard it and keep it whole,” George said.

“I see,” Ed said.

“When you’re older you’ll eventually run our family company. You will need to guard our assets, our investments. You won’t spend unwisely or wastefully. You’ll be conservative and ask yourself where every single penny is going,” George said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 338

“Sounds good. I’m thrifty too,” Ed said.

A waitress poured water. She dropped a check.

Ed looked out the window envious of the free ones riding past in cars who had no lecture to hear.

George leaned over with his index finger extended instructively.

“Part of what I’m trying to teach you are values. Be truthful, it’s about your reputation. And appearances do matter. Character is foundation and a conservative character means you can go through life and weather all kind of storms and emerge a survivor and a winner,” George said.

This churchly talk was delivered in an eccentric West

Hollywood diner, in a cloud of cigarettes, in a diner full of gay people, actors and eccentrically dressed partygoers coming to eat after all-nighters. A few looked over at Ed and George, admiring.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 339

“Why is our family split? You and me on one team, mom and Rory on the other?” Ed asked. The answer came later, after thought. George and Ed left the restaurant.

They were in the car now. They drove Beverly past one- story shops, billboards, along the wide treeless boulevard of empty sidewalks.

“Rory is a Lodge. He is your mother’s side through and through. They have a streak of New England craziness in their bloodlines. I didn’t know it when I married. You must always love your mother and brother …. but always closely, quietly, guard the Gilmore estate, our fortune. And shield it from their meddling,” George said.

At the long, red light at LaBrea, George intoned. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 340

“To save our family, listen to my advice. Mother will manipulate you with weakness. She wants you to include

Rory. Keep your brother out of your life as much as possible. Don’t let your mother push him into your life.

Keep arms distance from both of them,” George said and explained more.

Rory had recently been to Huntington Hospital for an examination by a child psychologist, George explained. He was diagnosed with something called “bipolar disorder”, a recently discovered disease only officially named in 1980.

“What can be done? I love my brother,” Ed asked.

“Containment. Like the Soviet Union,” George said analogizing fraternal bonds as international feuds.

Rory’s screaming outbursts and moods were his traits, and were unsuited for business, George said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 341

“For your part, be compassionate, be a good brother, but don’t discuss the financial aspects of our company, either with your mother or brother,” George said.

They headed back over the Glendale Avenue Bridge, into

Atwater Village.

“I have a new position as the Chairman of the San

Gabriel Valley Republican Party. Rory’s illness must be kept private. Everything is at stake. Anything you know about our family you must keep to yourself. Guard our kingdom,” George said.

“Can Dr. Yue cure Rory?” Ed asked.

“They train them well in Hong Kong. It is a British colony. They imported very educated Englishmen to school the Chinese who were only rice farmers and fishermen. Dr.

Yue studied at Queen Mary’s Hospital and he did his residence there. He is a very accomplished Oriental. It doesn’t hurt that he is quite handsome too,” George said.

Rory laughed. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 342

“That’s weird of you to say,” Rory said.

They drove on into the smog lands east of the LA River saying little.

Boston Visit

McKinley, Rory’s school, was on spring break from

February 25th to March 10, 1980.

Two weeks at home with Rory. She dreaded the stress.

She predicted days of blow-ups and nights of mayhem, locked in the house, the naughty boy and his short-tempered father. Not relishing it Edna dreamt of escape.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 343

On a whim and an impulse Edna’s travel agent found a

$260 RT airfare on World Airways from Los Angeles to

Boston. Rory, 10, could fly for $130. She booked the flight and a $110 a night room at the Ritz Carlton on

Newbury Street overlooking the Public Garden.

George was delighted. It was an unexpected, two- week vacation in March, removing his two prime irritants.

Edna knew Boston weather in February and March: snowy and blustery, cold and gray. Yet the prospect of gloom and chill was bracing and liberating. Her confinement in

Pasadena lifted, she would return to hometown and father.

Before she left, she had dreams: walking in the Back

Bay, a green wool scarf around her neck, running across the

Public Garden in the snow, trekking up Beacon Street, past the golden domed Statehouse illuminated at night. She yearned for chapped lips parched hands, numbed feet. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 344

Along with her elation, she revisited the tragedy of

Rebecca and those last, painful days of mourning and agony in 1967 and 1968.

To Rebecca’s funeral Edna went again, to the rain and the tears, the tousled pallbearers, to the young man who lost his shoe in the snow as he carried the coffin with the other three, the burial in the cemetery; the six foot deep, dark rectangle, dug under the winter trees; the blackness and the death, and the winds so bitter they nearly roused the dead. That day, and the days after the suicide, she drowned in grief. Epsom was inconsolable: gaunt, starved, depleted, weakened and lost.

He told her in mercy to just leave Boston. “It’s for the best”, he said.

“This is my home. And you’re here. How can I leave you?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 345

“There is no light here. The darkness has descended upon us. Go where there’s sun and hope and you can make your own new life. California. Stay with our cousins in

Buena Park. Stay for the summer and then decide if you want to return to Boston,” he said.

She had replayed the events of a decade ago, the last time she saw her father, the drama that enveloped them.

He was a widower bereaved again by a loss unimaginable, his daughter; there were the many friends of

Rebecca who broke down and cried, the unrelenting days of phone calls and cards and flowers at the door, well-meaning associates from Harvard, men in rumpled, baggy suits, who wrote poems and letters, and came to the house in wind, rain and sleet to bring food and flowers. To their atheist home came priests and nuns, and a white-haired pastor consoling with bottles of whisky and sherry.

Edna just wanted it to end. She needed a break, to flee, and go far away. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 346

In that time of pervasive sorrow, Edna was angry at

Boston itself, a city she projected onto, and blamed for killing Rebecca.

She believed a story about Boston. She made it darker, crueler and starker than it was. By indicting Boston, she absolved Rebecca of culpability for ending her own life.

But a dozen or more years after the death of Rebecca,

Edna made some peace with hate, maturing out of rebellion, hungering for authenticity. She wanted to confront the truth. She wanted to forgive Boston and her family and extinguish her long smoldering anger.

Epsom had another role to play. She hoped he could bond with Rory, father him in a way George could not.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 347

Boston

She was half-awake when she looked out from the plane window, as they came down from the clouds, early in the morning, just past dawn.

Boston and the harbor, in mist and fog, old and steady, a colonial settlement with a few skyscrapers, a few squat towers, most notably, the pointy topped Custom House.

Architectural modernity was in the distance, beyond, in the reflective glass of the sharp angled John Hancock tower.

Off the plane, out of the terminal, they hailed a cab and rode over a rusted steel bridge into the city, along crowded and pot-holed Storrow Drive past Beacon Hill.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 348

She looked out the window at her hometown, the

Charles River on one side, the backs of the old elegant brick houses on the other. She made no comment, good or bad, lest they influence Rory’s excitement and anticipation in seeing a new city and meeting his grandfather.

Then they were on Newbury Street, under the canopy of the grand dowager, Ritz Carlton. A doorman came out to assist them with luggage and to escort them into the lobby for check-in.

They went up to Room 910, facing the Public Garden.

It was furnished with flowered bedspreads, 18th Century furniture, and wing chairs. Hanging over the twin beds, were framed illustrations of the Public Garden swan boats.

They were the same boats in the garden seen from the hotel window, an odd redundancy.

She went to use the bathroom. There was a shower curtain printed with a large pink swan, pink swan hand towels and swan shaped soap dish.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 349

“Wow this is some view!” Rory said looking out the window.

“It’s winter so the swan boats have migrated onto our hand towels,” she said, ushering him into the bathroom to wash up and change clothes.

While he was in there, she unpacked their suitcases.

She turned on a lamp. They were here in Boston, an odd feeling, familiar yet alien. The sun was weak, the sky was cloudy, they were surely not in Southern California.

She thought of what it might be like to be here permanently, living at the Ritz, in her old city, away from

George and Ed. That thought chilled her, yet it was also enticing. She took some of Rory’s shirts and pants and put them in drawers, heightening her moving fantasy.

She laid out a woolen cap and mittens and a red scarf on the bed. And her own matching pea coat and cap, costumes for Boston, suitable for this Bay State production.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 350

They went downstairs in their new winter clothes. They crossed Arlington Street and passed through the ornate black iron gates of the Public Garden. They walked on the paths, over the bridges, under bare trees, in cold, bracing air. The late morning sky was turning darker. People walked faster, sirens went off, the Arlington Street Church bell rung by hand eleven times.

Edna felt snow on the way. Her knees and head ached from the drop in barometric pressure. Clouds, winds, and fluttering tree branches telegraphed the impending front.

Rory jumped up and down, exhilarated. She watched him dart over the bridge across the pond and run further into the park.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 351

The garden was dusted by snow, bare patches of brown alternating with whiteness.

This season and this setting had once depressed her.

Now it was energizing, liberating. The polar opposite of

Pasadena. She was walking under real clouds and fresh winds, far from the smog and the heat of the Southland, far from the cold man she married.

And she was back in her youth, watching it performed by her son. She ached for him to live happily.

He ran back to her, and ran circles around her, jumping and laughing.

“You look so silly! Your hat and your scarf and your coat. It’s the same as mine. Are you dressed like a boy? Or am I dressed like a girl?” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 352

“You’re a boy. And I am a girl! And don’t you ever forget it!” she said, chasing and pursuing him, hugging him tightly.

They walked to the corner of Charles and Beacon, on their way to her father’s apartment.

The sun emerged from the clouds, its eastern rays lighting up the Boston Common and the Public Garden, the beams spilling down Charles Street; spotlighting the red brick townhouses along Beacon Street.

And then a strong March wind pushed the clouds out, cleansing the sky, a new revelation in bright blue, fresh and innocent.

Edna felt better in Boston, restored and becalmed, rescued in spirit again. Coming here was the right decision. It was sweet and elegiac, maudlin and wondrous, and it carried the promise of healing.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 353

They passed DeLuca’s Market and turned right, up Mt.

Vernon Street, ascending a hill and arriving at No. 95, on the corner of W. Cedar St., a narrow, four-story, red brick apartment on a stone base with bow windows, over an enclosed entrance. A carved wood entrance door sat back from the street in a protected alcove above three granite steps. The mansard roof top was slate and held an attic apartment atop the building where Epsom lived.

He chose it because it was the highest, 48 steps up, and its rent was the lowest, only $239 a month, or $60 a week as Epsom sometimes joked.

“My room for rent in a boarding house,” he called it.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 354

Edna took Rory’s hand. They ascended the steps and went inside the vestibule and pushed a buzzer bell.

Rory laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Edna asked.

“You walk up and push a buzzer,” Rory replied.

“This is Boston. They think it’s funny when we drive into a garage to enter a house,” she said.

The exterior door unlocked by circuit switch. And Edna and Rory made their long climb up several flights.

“Is that you Edna?” Epsom yelled.

“No, the milkman!” she answered.

And there he was: lean, craggy, blue-eyed, carefully combed thin white hair, standing in the hall under the skylight, rust colored V-neck full of holes, worn to the ends, 80-years-old.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 355

“Welcome! Welcome!” he said to his gasping daughter and grandson.

“That was hard!” Rory said, running past Epsom into the apartment, right into the bedroom where he collapsed onto an iron post bed, jammed between the radiator, the wall and the window.

Edna kissed her father on the cheek.

“You look well,” she said.

“Likewise, daughter,” he said.

“Rory! Where are your manners? You barge in here like a bull! You didn’t even say hello to Grandpa Epsom!” she said inside the apartment.

“No problem at all. Welcome to my mansion,” Epsom said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 356

“I apologize for not phoning first. I left the hotel and we got lost in the park. And would you believe I almost forgot how to find Mt. Vernon Street?” she asked.

“Why don’t I fix you something to eat?” he said.

“I boil eggs now, practically a chef. I can whip up some oatmeal, or lousy instant coffee and Lipton Tea. But I don’t have anything fancy like Pop Tarts,” he said.

Epsom walked into the tiny 1950s kitchen with its white metal cabinets and a four-burner stove, a mid-century improvement. He filled a pot with water, put six eggs in and turned up the gas. Edna watched and intervened.

“Why don’t you let me?” she asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 357

“No! I’m a self-reliant man. Been turning on the gas for seven decades,” he said.

He opened a cabinet and took out some jam. The shelves had many cans of baked beans, canned salmon, anchovies, jars of peanut butter, and packaged pasta.

“Oh dear, the same cans of beans. You never change,” she said.

“I’m a cheap son-of-a-bitch. What else would you expect of a flinty New Englander like me?” he said, as he dropped two pieces of white bread into the toaster.

“Are things tight for you?” Edna asked.

“I still get my $89 City of Medford pension check every month. I have Social Security, pension, Medicare. I’m wealthy,” he said.

“If you ever need anything,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 358

Rory walked in with a yellow toy school bus in hand.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“What does it look like?” Epsom asked.

“I’m not dumb. I know it’s a school bus. Why does a grown man like you have a toy school bus?” Rory asked.

“Because it reminds me of who I am. I drove a school bus for 30 years. Your mother and her sister were raised by a school bus driver. Did anyone ever tell you that?” Epsom said.

“Nobody hardly mentions you at all!” Rory answered.

“That was very rude,” Edna said.

“I’m sorry!” Rory said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 359

Epsom bent over and patted Rory on the cheek.

“I’m not offended. I’ve heard far worse. I respect honesty. I would rather hear a stupid, honest remark than a smart, clever lie,” he said.

They sat down at a little hall table where a displaced telephone directory lived to eat breakfast: toast, eggs, peanut butter, tea, and milk.

After breakfast Rory fell asleep on Epsom’s bed.

“Let him sleep,” Edna said as she ushered Epsom out of the little bedroom into the small living room, gently shutting the glass door between the rooms.

“Good to see you again. And Rory, boy what a beautiful child,” Epsom said.

“I’m an awfully negligent daughter,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 360

He ignored it.

“How is your husband?” Epsom asked.

“Going great guns. Now he’s the San Gabriel Valley

Republican Party Chairman,” she said.

“Republican? Oh dear. An incurable illness,” Epsom said.

“Well our Mr. Reagan will be the nominee I’m sure,”

Edna said.

“Carter, with those hostages in Iran, he’s a goner.

But Reagan gutted the educational system in California when he was governor. They are only coming to power to help the rich. Not for you and me,” he said.

“Epsom you forget. I am rich now,” Edna said.

“Your life sounds good,” he said.

“I’m burdened with other things,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 361

“Rory?” Epsom asked.

“He is the main thing,” she answered.

The door from the bedroom opened. Rory, yawning, came into the living room.

“That radiator thing woke me up. Such a nuisance,” he said.

Edna stood up and walked into the bedroom. She put her hand near the hot radiator.

“Please be careful. You can scold yourself on this,” she said.

Edna smoothed out the creases in the bed, tucking in the blanket and puffing up the pillow.

“Get back in bed and try and rest. You didn’t sleep last night,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 362

She turned to inspect her father’s open closet with its meager clothes: a few shirts hung on wooden hangers, three work pants in cotton or wool, three pairs of shoes lined up on the floor. A shelf was stacked with folded white t-shirts, cotton boxer, Ivory Soap.

She closed the bedroom door again and went back into the living room. Rory lay on the bed eyes open. He was too excited to sleep.

“I want to buy you a new wool coat,” Edna said.

“No. If it’s cold I wear a wool shirt and fisherman’s sweater. A coat is frivolous waste,” he said.

“A waste? If I spend $150 and you live another ten years it will cost $15 a year,” she said.

“Ostentatious,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 363

“Let me go with you to Jordan Marsh or Filene’s and buy you a coat. C’mon,” she begged.

“No. I won’t have you spend a hundred or two hundred or whatever they charge for that,” he said.

“If I can’t buy you a coat what about a nice upholstered chair for the living room? You only have a hard wood chair. How do you even sit on that?” she asked.

“A poet needs to be uncomfortable when he writes. I open the windows in January. And shut off the heat. I sit on the wood chair. And that’s how my work gets done!” he said.

“Then I guess all I have left is to buy you dinner. I want Rory to try oysters. Can we go tonight to the Union

Oyster House?” Edna asked.

“If it’s for the boy, yes. I will relent. You don’t have to fight me. Don’t forget I take after William Lloyd

Garrison,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 364

He asked her if she remembered the statue of the abolitionist on Commonwealth Avenue.

“I do. You took us there to read the inscription. Your favorite,” she said.

“I am in earnest — I will not equivocate — I will not excuse — I will not retreat a single inch — AND I WILL BE

HEARD.” Epsom said.

The Burning Incident

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 365

“I turned to speak to God

About the world’s despair;

But to make bad matters worse

I found God wasn’t there.”

-Robert Frost

That night, early evening, Edna, Rory and Epsom left

Mt. Vernon Street.

Epsom wore his olive tweed jacket, yellow oxford cloth shirt and khakis, blue and red striped necktie. Edna in navy pea coat, gray wool trousers and flat slip-ons. Rory wore his navy pea coat, baby blue Shetland sweater and rust colored cords.

They made their way across Tremont St. through

Government Center, to the Union Oyster House.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 366

In the walk, Epsom pointed out notable buildings. He spoke of slavery, the underground railroad, and abolitionists. He talked about a deadly accident in 1919 when a molasses ship exploded in the harbor and killed many.

At the restaurant they ordered clam chowder and plates of freshly shucked oysters and clams. They skipped baked beans. But they splurged on Boston Scrod and Seafood

Newburg: lobster, shrimp and scallops in a sherry sauce, served on a baked pastry shell with wild rice. They devoured warm sourdough bread, Parker House rolls, boiled lobster and filet mignon.

After dinner, they walked around Faneuil Hall and

Quincy Market. Edna marveled at the adaptive reuse of 18th

Century structures converted to modern shops and restaurants. People were walking, the city was lively.

Edna, resigned to the feeble urbanism of Southern

California, had come to expect that an evening of dinner always ended at 8:30 with a valet parking attendant.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 367

“Let’s get some cannoli at Mike’s Pastry!” Epsom said.

They went on foot, under an elevated highway, to

Hanover Street, in the North End. They bought six cannoli, wrapped in a box, placed in a bag, and went back towards

Mt. Vernon St.

They stopped to admire the illuminated State House with its golden dome.

The wind began to blow, a cold wind and light snow tore through. They pushed west against the gusts on Beacon

Street.

“Boston weather at its best!” Epsom said as the came around Charles Street.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 368

The dim gas streetlamps lit up their walk. They walked uphill at Mt. Vernon St. and ran into the protected entrance at No. 95.

Edna held the cannoli as Epsom fumbled for his keys.

The light that normally lit the entrance was burned out and they scrambled in darkness to unlock the building door.

He got it open and they went into the inner vestibule.

Edna put the cannoli atop a hot radiator. Epsom pulled them off.

“It’s hot Edna. You can’t put them on that!” he said.

She saw the old flash of his irritation and it irritated her. He sounded like a parent.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 369

“I’m going to walk upstairs myself. No need for both of you to follow me. Thank you for dinner. Why don’t you wait down here and I can call a cab for you?” he said.

“I’m walking you up,” she commanded, taking his arm.

She told Rory to wait in the hall. The stairway was too narrow for them to all walk up together.

Father and daughter ascended. They were at the second floor about to go up to the third, and they heard Rory scream.

“Oh my God!” Edna said.

“What is it Rory?” Epsom shouted.

They dropped the box of cannoli and hurried down the stairs as his screams continued. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 370

“We are coming down! We are coming for you!” Edna said as she stampeded with her father behind.

They got down to the hall and found Rory grabbing the scalding hot radiator grills. He would not let go of the burning iron, his hands like locked lobster claws, had to be jimmied off.

“It hurts! It hurts! Mother help me!” he screamed.

Epsom pulled the boy back and lifted him up in his arms.

“Get the door. Let’s take him outside!” Epsom said as

Edna pulled the glass door open.

He carried Rory down the exterior steps and lowered him into the snow under, pressing his hands into the frozenness. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 371

“Keep your hands in there. Just bury them. Let the snow cool them. It’s OK. It’s going to be OK,” Epsom said.

Edna held onto the handrail and watched her father and son in triage. Rory’s screams subsided, his wounds anesthetizing. Epsom was stalwart, age had not diminished his mastery of coping with calamity.

“He’s all right, I think. It hurts him but I don’t think he will need medical treatment. Let’s keep his hands in the snow for a few minutes more,” Epsom said.

Edna came and knelt next to her father and took her hand to caress Rory’s face.

“What made you do that?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 372

“I wanted to feel pain,” he said.

“Now you have!” she said.

“Learn a lesson and then you won’t do it again,” Epsom said.

“We don’t have radiators in California,” she said.

“I should have brought him upstairs with us. My fault,” Epsom said.

“You don’t deserve blame. This is what I deal with.

You asked me what weighs on me. Here it is,” Edna said.

“Boys do stupid things sometimes. They want to test themselves to see how brave they are,” Epsom said.

Pickup on N. Benton Way

From his office, George called Ed. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 373

“I’m taking a client to dinner. I won’t be home until around 10. Tell your mother,” George said.

George had opened up some evening hours to play around.

He left 5757 Wilshire, driving east along the boulevard, all windows down. He went up Vermont and rode it in solid, indurated traffic. He turned onto Melrose, surveilling the people walking past. Then he was in Silver

Lake, driving in the dark on hilly streets, destination nowhere in particular.

“What the hell am I doing here?” he asked.

Perhaps he would improvise a plan. Maybe stop off at

Taix for a Heineken and some clam chowder. He went down

Sunset and stopped at a red light at Benton Way.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 374

Then he changed his mind. He turned up that shabby street, a street lined with broken-down bungalows from the

20s and cars parked on grass.

At Marathon and Benton Way, a blond and tanned young man leaned on a wall. He wore denim cut-offs and a #11 LA

Rams mesh jersey, white, blue and yellow.

George made eye contact with the self-aware man, modeling for passerby. He yelled from the car.

“I want to ask you a question,” he said.

The kid grinned nonchalantly. He walked over to and leaned in, folding his arms along the window ledge.

His arms were hairy and tanned, they smelled sporty and healthy, as if he had been swinging a bat or throwing a ball.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 375

“Sure, what’s up?” he said.

“I’m lost. Which way is Sunset?” George asked.

“Right there? Make a U-turn and go to the light,” he answered.

“I’m going to a restaurant in Echo Park. I just don’t know how to get there,” George said.

“You live around here?” the kid asked.

“No. A bit out of my neighborhood. Would you want to show me around?” George said.

“Sure,” the kid said.

He walked around to the passenger door. He got in, sat down, slumped low, looked at George sideways. He rolled his tongue suggestively, playing innocent and seductive simultaneously.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 376

George turned back to Sunset.

“Number 11. You a Pat Haden fan?” George asked, referring to the Rams quarterback.

“Yes. He’s cool looking guy. People say I could be his son,” the kid said.

“I went to USC like Pat,” George said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 377

They pulled into a residential area along Rampart

Blvd. He realized he had just driven around the block from where he picked up the kid.

“Is this where you want us to stop?” George asked.

“I don’t live around here. I was just sitting on the wall waiting for someone to come talk to me and you were the one,” the kid said.

“Where do you come from?” he asked.

“San Gabriel Valley,” George said.

“Are you married? You look like a dad. I bet you have kids too. I know a few like you,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 378

George smiled. He didn’t answer. He just looked over to the kid. The All-American in the Rams jersey was a street hustler.

“You want me to blow you?” the kid asked.

“Yeah, sure,” George said.

The kid rubbed George’s crotch, rubbed it until it got hard, then he pulled George’s dick out, laid his wet mouth over it and sucked him.

George liked watching this blond kid service him, so smoothly, so pleasurably.

George closed his eyes. “Does that feel good?” the kid asked as he went down again.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 379

George could not hold it in. He shot into the kid’s mouth, the kid swallowed without stopping. George kicked his feet into the floor pedals, pushing hard. Then it was over. He was satisfied, delighted depleted, exhausted, contented.

George got what he wanted. More than clam chowder, more than a cold beer, he came here and found his ultimate pleasure: ejaculating into a hot man’s mouth.

“That was great. Hey, I have to get going. Can I trouble you for a small donation?” the kid asked.

George was somewhat deflated: the hook-up was not based on mutual physical attraction.

“Sure. What were you thinking?” George asked.

“$40 ought to do it,” the kid answered.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 380

George pulled two twenty dollar bills out and laid them on the dash. The kid took them and crunched them into his shorts.

“Can I drop you off anywhere?” George asked.

“Naw. I’ll just get out here,” he said.

“Do you have a phone number? Do you want to meet again?” George asked.

“I don’t make appointments. Drive down here when it’s getting dark, and you’ll catch me on Benton Way, or Sunset walking towards Silver Lake Boulevard,” he said.

The kid got out of the car. He walked away. And disappeared into the dark.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 381

Omens

Miss Della Prescott, the building manager who lived and managed 429-31 S. Hoover, died in early March, collapsing in her apartment hallway. She had no children.

She had been a longtime parishioner at the First

Congregational Church, the oldest Protestant church in Los

Angeles. It had a resoundingly glorious pipe organ (largest in the entire world) and magnificent Gothic architecture.

George spoke to the minister there who arranged for a small memorial ceremony.

The funeral was attended by very few, but George, who came alone, felt it was suitable and dignified.

A funeral home sent the late Miss Prescott back to

Brooklyn, IA to be buried on her family farm where she was born in 1897. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 382

George took her death as an omen.

She was the last defense against that onslaught of non-whites who began to occupy his apartments. She was loyal, militant, courageous, and there was a kinship between the late Miss Prescott and George. When she died it was a metaphor for the death of the familiar and friendly city of middle-western whites.

George, like retired teacher Miss Prescott, was sure that his buildings were losing value when the wrong class of truants and underachievers moved in.

After she died, he evaluated his holdings in all his buildings and looked at his tenants’ names, hundreds of renters. And he was revolted to be the landlord for immigrants born in Thailand, Armenia, Guatemala, El

Salvador, Mexico, Honduras, South Korea and the

Philippines.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 383

Some names were reassuringly Anglo-Saxon or Irish. But tragically, he realized, they often belonged to black people. He was now wary of a Johnson, Wilson, McHenry, and

O’Reilly who might come in darker shades.

He reasoned that he harbored no prejudices, but rather that his concern was entirely related to property values.

He was a businessman thinking like a businessman. The more non-white a neighborhood became, the higher the crime rate, the worse the schools, the faster the decay. And soon he would be holding worthless assets.

His ethnic fears propelled his ideas about investing.

One law, above all, was despicable and unfair to property owners: The Fair Housing Act of 1968.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 384

That, along with more liberal immigration laws, opened up the floodgates from Asia, permissively allowing the illegal immigration of too many Central and South Americans to the city. It changed the entire character of California.

Was it prejudiced to state facts?

To lessen his own risk George had to sell buildings in the frightful areas.

He was certain Silver Lake, Echo Park, Los Feliz, East

Hollywood, downtown Los Angeles, MacArthur Park, and

Chinatown would become wastelands like the burning South

Bronx in New York. They were hopeless ghettos of violence, neglect, and decay. Why invest in dying areas never to be resurrected?

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 385

After Miss Prescott died, George looked anew at the old buildings with tenants who spoke little English. He had walked those suffocating, stinking hallways of fish sauce, fried garlic, and chili peppers.

Children shared rooms with parents and grandparents all packed together. He wondered how any civilized country could allow such strange and unnatural arrangements to become the norm.

He was suffocated by the foreignness in all his apartments. He yearned, to go further west, to the lands of cooler temperatures and paler skins, to Westwood,

Brentwood, Santa Monica and Pacific Palisades.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 386

The Bike Ride

On one of those nights when Edna and Rory were still in Boston, and Ed slept over at a friend’s house, George went for a bike ride.

He rode, in the wind, in his untucked, white oxford shirt and khakis, pedaling and gliding under the great oaks along South Arroyo. The night was cool, the sky above orange, the light below coral.

Free, alone, exploring, riding aimlessly like a boy.

As he rode, he thought of nothing past or future. Only his breath and his beating heart and the breeze.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 387

He turned up Norma and Vincent’s street, California

Terrace,

He saw a boy and his father playing catch.

He had never played catch with his boys. He was absent from fatherhood. He watched them play and he was shot through with guilt. His mood darkened.

As he rode closer, he saw that Dr. Yue was the good- looking man throwing the ball. The doctor waved at George.

The child turned around. And took off his cap. It was

Lesley.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 388

George dismounted and shook Dr. Yue’s hand. He felt a pull, an attraction, a longing for the sporting physician who wore a leather mitt. America’s pastime had naturalized the Hong Kong born doctor into an all-American.

“What are you doing riding around in your dress clothes? Come in and we’ll go for a swim, fix you a drink!”

Vincent said.

“I shouldn’t. I couldn’t. I can’t just barge in,”

George said.

“Edna and Rory are in Boston, c’mon in!” Vincent said.

“Very kind of you. OK,” George said.

He followed the broad back and wide shoulders into the yard. His eyes were fixed on Vincent, not peripherals.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 389

They went, together, into the shady realm of patio and pool.

Lesley went into the house. The men were outside, alone.

“Shall we take a swim?” Vincent asked.

“I don’t have my swimsuit,” George said.

“Take off your shirt. Take off your pants. Swim in your boxers old sport!” Vincent said.

Asking George to undress was too much for George.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 390

“You swim. I’ll just fix myself a drink and sit here,”

George said.

“Ok. But I insist you stay for dinner,” Vincent said as he pulled off his t-shirt, stripped down to his white briefs, and jumped into the pool.

Norma came home. She walked into the house, looked out into the yard and saw her husband swimming and frolicking in the pool, and heard him talking to someone. She went to the glass door at the end of the living room. She saw

George, on the patio, with his drink.

She already had converted her opinion of him into a private, unspoken hatred. His presence soiled her plans for pristine night.

It had been a long day of open houses, clients, work stress. And now: an intruder on the patio. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 391

She emerged from the house: composed, cool, proper and polite; in bare feet and her shoulder padded, dark blue suit with white, patent-leather peak lapels.

She retained her daytime executive powers in the moonlight.

“I’m home!” she said.

George stood up.

“So lovely to see you again,” she said.

Vincent hoisted himself out of the pool and toweled himself off.

Warily, he walked, hair soaked, water running down his body, sensing, his wife’s displeasure.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 392

George stood by and observed. His eyes were latched onto Vincent, so fit, so hearty so masculine, a real man, sculpted, ideal.

He imagined Vincent, making love, to Norma.

“Excuse us. Vincent help me find something. We will be right back. Please relax and pour yourself more Scotch!”

Norma said.

She and Vincent went inside.

She slid the patio door shut. And spoke in hushed, angry tones.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 393

“What is he doing here? You invite him into our home without telling me?” she said.

“It couldn’t be helped. I was playing with Lesley out front and he rode up on his bicycle. I had to be polite and invite him in,” Vincent said.

“He’s not our family. He doesn’t belong here. After we work hard all day why do we need to entertain him? He is quite unwelcome,” Norma said.

Vincent was baffled.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 394

“My goodness you are chi sin, so crazy. What is wrong with you? He is your best friend’s husband. Can’t you show him so little hospitality? You are putting on a wrong attitude. Why don’t you go change out of your power suit, put on some comfortable clothes and I will make dinner.

Let’s be reasonable,” he said.

She walked out. And slammed the bedroom door.

Vincent went back out onto the patio to rejoin their guest. “I’m sorry. Long day at work for her,” he said.

Lesley sat on her bed atop tossed, unmade sheets and blankets with a box of Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Milano

Cookies, scattered crumbs, sheets of paper, her homework.

Norma stormed in.

“Good evening. Eating cookies, again? Have you had a proper dinner?” Norma asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 395

“In-and-Out Burger and pizza,” Lesley said.

“You eat a lot of junk. All those bad foods and soda.

You will end up as a fat girl. And you will never find a boyfriend or husband!” Norma said.

“Maybe I don’t want a boyfriend or a husband. Why do you have to come in and attack me?” Lesley said.

“Everything critical thing I say is for your own good!

What sounds like cruelty is love,” Norma said.

“Do your homework at your desk next to the window and do it properly with a chair and a lamp! You look like a cheap slut sitting in bed with unmade sheets, eating cookies!” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 396

Later the adults were on the patio. George was a few drinks in, Vincent was two, and Norma had none.

They ate BBQ chicken breasts, foil wrapped broccoli and onions in butter sauce. The men had glasses of cold white wine.

“You don’t like to drink?” George asked Norma.

“I can’t tolerate it. I’m riled up,” Norma said.

“Lesley?” Vincent asked.

“There’s nothing worse than raising an American daughter,” Norma said.

Vincent cleared the dirty dishes from the patio and brought them into the house.

“Have you heard from Edna?” Norma asked.

“I have to call her,” he said.

“Why did she go back to Boston?” Norma asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 397

“She is involved with Epsom, I guess. She had not seen him for many years. Poor man. A bus driver and a poet. Rory had never met him,” George said.

“Who is Epsom? An old friend?” Norma asked.

“Her father,” George said.

“The man she calls Epsom is her father? Who calls their father by his first name? I’m sorry but I have never heard of a such a disrespectful thing!” Norma said.

Vincent came out with hot water for tea and coffee.

“What is the controversy now?” Vincent joked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 398

“Edna is visiting her father, whom she calls Epsom.

She is his daughter. I find this very strange. He lives alone in Boston not with his daughter in California as he should. I think the whole situation is wrong. Chinese do things properly for their aged parents,” Norma said.

“She sends him money. He is a self-reliant New

Englander. Nobody abandoned him,” George said.

“She brought Rory to see him, which is good, but what lessons is Edna teaching the boy? When he grows up, he should expect to take care of his old parents. And he sees his grandfather, whom he only knows as Epsom, left alone like a wandering ghost,” Norma said.

“George is probably tired. Many families do things differently than ours,” Vincent said.

George liked Norma’s assertiveness, her frankness, her bluntness. He also took no offense to her critique of Edna.

He rather enjoyed Edna demeaned by her friend. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 399

“I like that you speak your mind. I may be calling on you to have you handle some business for me. I need a gutsy broker,” George said.

“What do you need? Tell me,” Norma said.

“I’m thinking of liquidating some properties I own.

Some five buildings in Los Angeles in less than desirable neighborhoods I’m afraid. But together they could add up to a healthy sale. You could be our listing agent,” George said.

“That is quite an honor that you are considering me. I am still new, I will have some catching up to do, but I assure you I work hard,” Norma said.

George stood up. “I know you work hard. You’re honest, you speak your mind, so I’d like to engage you in this offer,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 400

Norma was pacified by the promise of business. She smiled. His odiousness wore off into the aroma of commissions.

“I want to apologize for my earlier rudeness. I don’t entertain at home that much. You are always welcome here,”

Norma said.

“Good to know. Please say good night to your daughter.

And thank you again for dinner,” George said.

Norma pointed to a window with a sheer curtain pulled over a lamp lit room. The shadow of Lesley at her desk was visible from the yard. “She is in there studying. This is how I keep watch on her from out here. I’ll give her your regards,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 401

George, mildly buzzed on bike, rode the short ride home. He was satisfied with his cleverness in winning over

Norma. And by doing business with her, he could also spend more time with Vincent.

Along the Edge

After George left, as Vincent cleared the table and took the dirty plates and utensils inside, Norma sat along the edge of the pool, dipping her feet into the water, gently kicking little waves that went out and away and against the sides.

Alone, in the yard, becalmed by the hum of the pool filter, she had a few minutes of solitude.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 402

She glanced at her daughter’s window with the light filtering shade pulled down, and the seated shadow at her desk.

It had been a peculiar little night, discordant and symphonic, redolent with mint, jasmine and gardenia; it had been a peculiar little night of George and his offer, and her response, insincerely gracious, yet sincerely accepted.

It had been a night of strange revelations, about Epsom and

Edna, and it had all begun with her revulsion at George in her home, and it had all ended with her welcoming him as a client.

She knew too much about his indecency and immorality.

She was torn because she wanted nothing to do with him; he was a cheating husband, a bugger, and all that. Yet he was offering her commissions to sell his properties. And he liked her, and respected her, and had genuine loyalty to her, as if she were his family.

She was deep in her head when Vincent came from behind. He crouched down and threw his arms around her. He kissed her on the neck and held her tightly. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 403

“You must be delighted,” he whispered as he kneeled next to her.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why? You are going to be George’s agent and selling some expensive properties. I’m sure he stopped here to see you. It was no coincidence. He wants to do business with you. He just pretended to be social with me,” Vincent said.

“I think he likes you more than me. He really likes you. Couldn’t stop looking at you,” she said.

“What does that mean?” Vincent asked.

“Never mind. I loathe him. I hate him. He is a chuī niú, big talker. I don’t think I want to work with him,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 404

“What is eating you? Since the party you are off balance. You hold it against me because I didn’t escort you there? I was on duty at the hospital that night!” he said.

“I know that! I don’t hold it against you. I could care less,” she said.

She lifted her legs out of the water, stood up and walked away, leaving him alone. He cornered her face-to- face.

“Something’s up. Speak your mind! What the hell are you hiding?” he said.

She looked away.

“I know something secret. It’s eating me alive. I promised myself I wouldn’t tell you. It concerns men, two men,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 405

He grabbed his head, locking his hands behind it, closing his eyes, preparing for the worst. She had driven away his affection for weeks, yet he was ravenous for her, but in terror of her rejection.

“Two men? This is beyond my imagination. What have I done to deserve this? I love you so much, brought you to this country to give you a home, a daughter. What have I done?” he asked.

Lesley heard the argument. She wanted to get out of her room and listen. She reached behind her chair for her six-foot tall stuffed Panda and put it in her desk chair so the shadow outside would show a being inside.

She snuck out into the darkened living room, hid behind the curtains and listened.

“Do I know them?” Vincent asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Just confess it right now. Let it out!” he screamed. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 406

Then she laughed, bitterly, preposterously.

“I am not confessing my sins. I’m confessing someone else’s!” she said.

“I am completely lost. What is this lunacy?” he asked.

“Our younger cousin Tony. He was boyfriends with a rich, married gweilo. George Gilmore was his landlord. And also, his lover! Then they broke up. I said it. Chan hou… you think my rotten mouth made it up. I found out at the

Jennifer Jones Norton Simon party! And I had to keep this sickening secret to myself,” she said.

“You’re not in a relationship with another man? This is about George and Tony?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 407

“Do I need to look for other lovers to satisfy me?

When I have one, like you, attacking me every single night with physical demands?” she asked.

He was ambushed by his own conjurations, rescued by her recounting of the amorous affair between the men. Never had he rejoiced more in learning of something so salacious.

He turned on the garden hose. He took a gulp of cold water and ran it over his head and shook off like a wet dog. He tore off his t-shirt, dried his head with it, walked and talked to cool off fury.

He had vanquished his fears. His rationality returned.

“Our Tony is a homosexual lover with George Gilmore?

That is quite a story. I don’t blame you for not speaking of it. But it happens. As a doctor I can assert that the biological fact of homosexuality exists,” he said.

“It exists like evil. You do it by choice, not instinct,” she said, with certainty.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 408

She had put Vincent into panic and heartbreak by manipulating him through persistent obfuscation and ersatz infidelity. He became subordinate to her. And though he was assured of her fidelity, he would not again regain that secure, unquestionable position of masculine authority and confidence he held before that fateful night.

Wounded, now grateful, he could not stay angry.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m sorry, so sorry,” he said, eyes red and puffy.

She took his t-shirt from his hand and dabbed his eyes.

“Look what I did to you, an innocent bystander,” she said.

“I should have asked you sooner. It’s partly my fault.

You carry a lot of burden,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 409

She laid out her predicament, an entanglement of truth and lies.

“I am locked into silence. If I told Edna, I would break up her marriage. I would be a home wrecker. And I don’t want her to know that our cousin is the other woman.

Our family honor, our reputation, that would be destroyed.

This is truly perplexing. This homosexuality is beyond me,” she said.

Lesley heard her mother’s intolerance as loudly as she heard her uncle’s infidelity. With every condemnation of

Tony, Lesley became more sympathetic and adoring of him. He was the victim, not Norma, not Edna, not George.

And the patio talk continued.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 410

“I’m very angry with him. I was betrayed. There is no forgiveness. I can't tell Lesley either. Her uncle is dead to me. He is shaming all of us. This gay thing is a sickness,” Norma said.

“Clinically, they don’t consider his condition an illness anymore. It’s a way of being. He can’t help it.

Perhaps it’s a choice but it is not treatable or curable,”

Vincent said.

“I’m so tired of hearing about choice, and people who choose to do whatever feels good. This American illness, of doing your own thing, free sex, pot smokers, wife swappers, interracial lovers, it is all destroying this country! I grew up adoring the US. I thought it was the happiest place, and the Gilmore Family was the ideal. Now the rug has been pulled up. And the maggots scurry underneath,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 411

“Tony has to go it alone, without family or a wife. He looks for love in the shadows, wandering around to find a person whom he can love. George is married, he is more at fault than our younger cousin. You don’t speak to Tony now to punish him. Yet you speak to George! But have compassion. Tony is lonely, a lost soul, a Chinese man in exile, adrift, paddling riding up on the turbulent ocean of life,” Vincent said.

Norma listened. She was unmoved. She deferred to her own steely, ingrained ideology and upbringing.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 412

“I used to think I was so modern. I didn’t know how to cook or keep house; I didn’t teach Lesley a word of

Cantonese. I went to work and left my child alone. I took a hair style like Farrah Fawcett. I wore a denim jacket, I drove a car, I put on pink lipstick and big sunglasses and rode in a convertible with my black hair blowing in the wind. I was so American. But now I realize I am not modern at all. I am Lou tou--out-of date, old fashioned,” she said.

“You may buy modern things. But you cannot change who you are and where you come from,” he said.

“When we moved to Pasadena, I wanted to be a real

American and have a fine American friend like Edna. I was so lonely before I met her. She has been true, sincere and loyal. Now I am the liar and the phony,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 413

It had been a long, cathartic, mercurial night. They were exhausted and convulsed by the revelations, depleted of energy by the release of so much truth into the atmosphere.

Lesley watched them as they approached the sliding door.

She went back into her bedroom, and slowly closed her door. She picked up panda from her chair and placed him against the wall.

A Woman Can Only Endure

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 414

Edna went one morning, on her own, to see the Chinese ritual bronzes at Harvard’s Fogg Art Museum. She took the

Red Line T.

Crossing the Longfellow Bridge over the Charles River, she sat at the end of a train and looked behind at Beacon

Hill, that elevated encampment where Epsom lived. Here she was, again, in Boston and Cambridge, as if she had never gone away, or married, or had children, but had stayed on this train, to remain, forever young and yearning.

That same morning, around 11, the poet and his grandson put on sweaters and went down to the Common to go kite flying in the park, still covered with patches of

March snow.

Rory and Epsom had the park to themselves. Grounds were open, fields muddy and hard. It was empty, the people were at work or in school. The sun was feeble and weak, fighting off clouds, still under the winter.

Rory unfurled a string, Epson held the kite. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 415

They walked to catch a breeze. Rory loosened the leash, the kite drifted up, the boy was astonished at its flight. Nobody had ever taken him out to have fun in a park, let alone fly a kite.

Epsom guided Rory, directing him to walk and to find the wind.

“Keep your eye on the kite. Stick your finger into the gust, feel it. It’s blowing from the south, headed for the

Statehouse. Feel it my boy!” Epsom said.

Epsom let Rory take control and sat on a bench. The old man put on his reading glasses, took a folded Boston

Globe out, glanced down at the headlines and main lead, back up to Rory.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 416

Just after noon Edna came up the subway stairs at Park

Street. She walked through the Common. And then she saw her son and her father. But they didn’t see her, yet.

She paused and observed Rory run back to his grandfather, jump on the bench, throw his arms around Epsom and hug him. Epsom seemed to whisper in Rory’s ear. There was intimacy and affection.

There had never been a day when George showed any tenderness towards Rory. There had never been such a father and son moment. The bonds seen here were never seen before.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 417

In amazement, she shook her head, hoping to stay frozen and invisible, for just a few minutes more. But then the young-eyed boy spotted her. And he yelled for his mother. He ran over, threw his arms around her, and lead her back to Epsom, still sitting on the bench.

Edna was hot. She unbuttoned her coat, took it off, laid it over the bench draped across the back slats, and sat down next to her father.

They talked about the Fogg, Harvard, and the Chinese bronzes. She complimented Epsom for the care he showed to

Rory.

“It’s nothing. I’m thrilled to spend time with him.

I’m an old man. How much time do I have left?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 418

She had a bag with a gift-wrapped box inside.

“I know you’ll be upset. But I saw this in Harvard

Square and I had to buy it,” she said.

“What is this?” he said.

“Why don’t you look inside?” she said.

He opened it. Folded inside was a J Press rust- colored Shetland sweater.

“You wasted money on me. Now how much did this cost?” he asked.

“Forty-one dollars. Does that make you squirm? Just wear it for the next twenty years and it will cost you a little over two dollars a year.,” she said.

“Extravagant,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 419

“You won’t let me buy you a sofa or a new chair so you’re getting a lousy sweater. You actually saved me money,” she said.

He put it back, gently, into the box.

“I’ll wear it because it’s a gift from you my dear,” he said.

The word dear in his gratitude made her cry. “Thank you, Epsom,” she said.

“I’m not good at saying it. But you know I do,” he said.

She held his hand. “And I do you,” she said.

The sun came out again and then it went away, as if it were ashamed of shining. Edna looked up at the sky.

“Clouds. Real clouds. And a sun that hides behind. I forgot how it feels to see white puffs floating along up there. A blue sky every day of the year can make you cheerless,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 420

Later these three walked along Charles and stopped at a little neighborhood café for pizza slices and a Dixie cup of Lancer’s Rose wine for Edna.

Edna said she bumped into Ann Sackler, a high school friend, in Harvard Yard.

“She was quite rich, even then. Her uncle is Arthur

Sackler, a philanthropist who’s giving millions for a new

Asian museum at Harvard,” she explained.

Epsom rolled his eyes.

“He’s a crafty NY doctor who did research into mental health and he owns a drug company. He has a magazine that goes out to doctors and he also owns an ad agency that specializes in pharmaceuticals. He makes millions on mental illness, drugs and advertising. And he is the largest shareholder at State Street Bank. I know of his so-called shining reputation. He is always endowing something. The

Smithsonian, the Met in New York, Harvard,” Epsom said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 421

“You are astonishing. How do you know all that?” Edna asked.

“Those six-foot high piles of newspapers next to my stove in the apartment. I read every single page,” he said.

“I ended up having one coffee with Ann. And I think my mouth runneth over. I told her I worked with the Pacific

Asia Museum. I told her about Norton-Simon, and even our family’s history with mental illness, Rory and Rebecca.

What is wrong with me?” she asked.

“Trying to get reacquainted?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Living in Los Angeles, that is just what you do. You take your private information and you broadcast it hoping someone will buy it and make it into their movie project. Have I gone insane too?” she asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 422

“I don’t think you’re wrong for telling that Sackler girl about your mutual interests. It’s a magical coincidence you meet an old friend who is very rich, whose family explores the treatment of mental illness, and whose patriarch is probably the foremost collector of Oriental

Art in the world. You want to put yourself down for that?” he asked.

“We were almost done with our wine, and I told her I had to go back to Boston, and she stunned me. It turned out she knew a lot about me. She knew about George, his family business, his involvement in Republican party politics,

Governor Reagan,” she said.

“She sounds as crafty as her uncle,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 423

“She asked me a simple question that quite upset me.

Why did I leave Boston for California? I don’t want to have to face the truth on that. Was I wrong for fleeing there?” she asked.

He smiled. And recited a poem:

“I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

“Robert Frost?” she asked.

“Yes. Our neighbor at 88 Mt. Auburn Street,” Epsom said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 424

Edna tore at a piece of tomato and cheese pizza. Rory sat nearby at a window seat, eating pizza, looking out on the street.

“Should I phone her again? Could she help?” Edna asked.

“Be dubious of very wealthy people who endow museums and file confidential information on your personal life.

Especially scions of Harvard. People in power will dress up their cruelty and greed by endowing museums with art and stuffing their own pockets with money. They get applause for donating their plunder of Chinese Art to Harvard. That school is to Boston like the Pentagon is to Washington, DC.

It’s a fountain of money and glad handers. Be self-reliant.

Don’t expect favors from rich strangers you bump into in

Harvard Yard,” he advised.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 425

“You don’t think she can help?” Edna asked.

“No. She’s an entitled person. She would only make use of you,” he said.

“I do need help,” Edna said.

“All a woman can do is endure. Just endure it to the end. Don’t expect rescue from a man, money, or a rich acquaintance,” he said.

Chicken with Mushrooms and Artichokes

After lunch, Edna, Rory and Epsom walked back to the apartment. They climbed the five flights of stairs. And

Rory went into bed, Epsom into a chair. Edna pulled a comforter from the closet, spread it on the floor, and laid down on it, alongside the bed.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 426

Her nap was deep, for she was unused to winter, to noontime wine, to walking, on streets and stairs, to going, all around the city, everywhere, on foot.

Then she awoke, before Epsom and Rory, and wandered into the kitchen. She opened a cabinet and looked for a snack but only found olives, baked beans, sardines and some

Fels Naphtha soap bars.

On the top shelf she found a book, The Cooking of

Provincial France. She took it down to look through it.

She and Rebecca had cooked from this book. And there were notes, stuck into pages, in her sister’s handwriting.

She read them with hunger and heartache.

On Sautéed Chicken with Shallots and Artichoke Hearts,

Rebecca wrote: “Dad loves this.” Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 427

Edna turned another page to an old favorite: mushrooms, cooked in oil and butter, with chicken stock, lemon, bay leaves, and black pepper.

There had been many cold and dark nights when the sisters cooked these and shared wine and laughter. In those times of merriment, Edna recalled no hints of impending tragedy.

She last held this book in her hands as a young, single woman.

On impulse, she took the book, grabbed her coat purse, shoes, and went out to the market to buy ingredients for chicken with shallots and artichokes, and the mushroom dish.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 428

She came home with groceries, wine and fresh flowers.

“Mom, we thought you ran away,” Rory joked.

“Only to Deluca’s” she said, unloading the provisions.

She washed her hands. And then she made a little, organized workspace, wiping down the counter, laying out the food.

Next to the gas stove was a six-foot high pile of

Boston Globe newspapers, months of them, stacked close to the burners. She took away the papers and brought them out into the hall as a precaution.

Epsom was awake now. And he came into the kitchen wondering what was going on. He was groggy and grumpy.

“I’m sorry. I woke you up,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 429

“What are you doing? Where did you take my papers?” he asked.

“It’s dangerous and a fire hazard to keep those next to the oven and the burners,” she said.

“Do I come into your house and take it apart? What gives you the right to show up after a dozen years and rearrange my life to your liking? Put them back where I had them,” he said.

“When I’m done cooking. Then I’ll bring them back,” she yelled.

He went into the hall, picked up his pipe, lit it and sent out cherry and maple smoke. He smoked and became subdued. He came back over and put his hand on her shoulder as she stirred butter in a frying pan.

“My Dear, I apologize. I had no right to snap at you.

You’re correct. Those papers don’t belong here. I have a short temper because I live alone and forgot how to get along with people,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 430

“Don’t give it another thought,” she said.

Her father had the character and the good manners to admit his mistakes.

Epsom’s face brightened. “Are you going to make something from here?” he asked looking down at the cookbook.

“I thought I’d bring back the old days tonight,” she said.

“You girls used to cook from it, you made such delicious foods, chicken with shallots and mushrooms in butter, he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 431

He looked, again, at the cookbook, and saw Rebecca’s handwriting, her unique scrawl: graceful, artistic, rounded and curved, letters connected with deliberation to make words into poetic forms.

“When we lived in Medford you and your sister never liked raking leaves. We used to fight because I’d come after you two to do chores. Then you would cook up something conciliatory,” he said.

She sliced two shallots and put them into the melted buttered frying pan. The kitchen smoked and Epsom coughed.

He put down his pipe and called for Rory.

“Don’t go. I like talking with you,” she said, stirring and sautéing. He paused and waited and remained.

“Our family….” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

He had difficulty speaking. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 432

“It was broken up, or kept apart, I don’t know which.

But it isn’t too late. I covered up, so much pain, because,

I thought, I thought, I was protecting, you. But I wasn’t lying, I was omitting, shaking our madness out into the winds” he said.

“Mother?” she asked.

“Mom took her own life. Medford. You must have already figured it out. I told you girls she had cancer. I think

Rebecca always knew. I never sat down and let out all the pain. I damned you both with my secrets,” he said.

She had nothing to say. She listened. And she poured wine and gelatin into a Pyrex glass and stirred it with a spoon.

The Painted Window Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 433

Epsom and Edna talked in the kitchen as Rory was alone in the bedroom. He was suspiciously quiet.

Rory went into his mother’s make-up bag. He pulled out two glass bottles of Cocoa Pearl and Cherry Blossom Revlon

Nail Polish.

He undid Cocoa Pearl and took it to the window. He abstractly brushed across the glass, a process he continued with Cherry Blossom, painting a glorious shade of glossy red. The polish dried. Late afternoon oranges and reds tinted the bedroom in soft light.

The radiator under the window cooked the fumes. Epsom smelled it.

He walked into the bedroom, apprised the event, reached down to turn off the radiator, and pulled the window open wide to cold air.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 434

“Look at that. Well that’s quite a work of art,” Epsom said.

“I’m in trouble now,” Rory said.

Edna was still in the kitchen, peeling and slicing shallots until her eyes could stand no more. She took a dish towel and wiped her face. She walked over to the bedroom and looked in.

“Oh my God! What have you done? My nail polish! You little monster! This is him. This is what I deal with every day! You see it for yourself!” she said.

She went into the bathroom and threw cold water on her face.

“I have it under control. Do you have nail polish remover?” Epsom said.

Edna shouted through the closed door. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 435

“In my makeup bag. I leave him alone for a minute,” she said as she went with disgust and fury into the bedroom.

Epsom was calm, even bemused.

“Go back and cook. I’ll get the paint off the window.

Take it easy,” he said.

“For you it’s temporary. For me it’s a life sentence,” she said.

He poured acetone on a rag, swiped it across the glass, the polish came off. Rory watched, amazed. Epsom went into the bathroom, washed his hands, came back out and sat with Rory on the bed in conspiratorial amusement.

“We did it. All clean. Don’t cause trouble unless you know how to get out of it,” he counseled.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 436

“Thank you. You are a real grandfather. A father too!”

Rory said.

In that cold room, Epsom had a bracing resurrection of parenthood. This was their last night together. Rory and

Edna would fly out tomorrow.

They ate the chicken, artichokes and shallots for dinner at the little table set with flowers and candles.

Epsom drank two glasses of wine, and his happiness lasted beyond the last bite of warm pecan pie and vanilla ice cream.

After dinner, Rory watched TV, while Epsom and Edna did the dishes.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 437

“Did Rebecca have those kinds of outbursts when she was Rory’s age?” Edna asked.

“I don’t remember. She was always a moody girl. I chalked it up to artistic personality. I didn’t psychoanalyze,” he said wiping a glass with a dishtowel.

“Well surely if she was destructive you haven’t forgotten,” Edna said. She looked right at him, scanning his eyes for revelation.

“She had black hair, tied back in a ponytail, big brown eyes, mischievous and intelligent. She was thin and a wonderful dancer, our Audrey Hepburn,” he said.

“I know all that. I’m looking for something else in her personality you might recall,” she said.

He sat down on a stool.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 438

“She was a top student, she went to Radcliffe, she played Chopin, Rachmaninoff, Liszt on the piano. She obeyed. She was never cross. She never lost her temper. She listened to my advice. She said she would wait until she was married to…. well you know,” he said.

Edna turned off the water. She gave him her entire attention.

“I was a single father driving a school bus. I was grateful because I had the best children, the best two daughters anyone could ask for,” he said.

He replayed the night of the suicide.

“I was at the bowling alley with my league, relaxing and enjoying myself on a Wednesday night. They paged me to come to the front desk. I walked to hell in my bowling shoes,” he said.

Edna recalled her moment. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 439

“The night she died, Friday, August 18, 1967, I was eating a burger and fries in Kenmore Square with some friends. Then we walked over to a night game at Fenway

Park. We got to the ballpark late, possibly the bottom of the third inning. The Red Sox and the California Angels.

In the fifth inning Tony Conigliaro was at bat and was knocked unconscious by an Angel pitcher’s fastball. They took the poor guy off in a stretcher. The whole stadium was silent. He had fractured his left cheekbone, dislocated his jaw and had awful damage to his left retina. We were so upset and worried. And I didn’t even know Tony C. He was out the rest of the season. I think he never quite got back to normal. One second of bad luck.

And my sister was somewhere down on Comm Av climbing over the railing to jump. Why did I care so much about a ball player I didn’t know? She was just down Comm Av. And I was at Fenway. So close. I might have run up the street and talked her down, if only I knew,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 440

“I came home first, and I waited for you. We went to the morgue in a taxi because I was too distraught to drive,” he said.

“We didn’t own a car. Remember?” Edna asked.

“But we rode to the morgue in a taxi. Didn’t we?” he asked.

“Yes. We went by taxi,” she said.

“To the morgue, in a taxi,” he said.

And then he looked away. He got up off the stool and walked out of the kitchen, into the living room, where he joined his grandson and the television. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 441

Spring is Here

Edna packed their bags. They checked out of the Ritz-

Carlton, and then they rode in a taxi to say farewell to

Epsom.

Every city looks its best as you see it on your last day.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 442

The sun shone as they traveled the short distance along Arlington and Beacon to Charles, driving on the wet roads past red brick buildings. The people were on their way to work in their navy and white and gray. The city, inhabitants and houses, churches and stores, looked refreshed, proper, dignified as if it had put up elegance to say so long. For these two departing visitors, spring was here, they would not see the new season in the old city.

The cab turned up Mt. Vernon.

The taxi pulled up. Edna and Rory got out.

Epsom, in his new J Press Shaggy Dog sweater, stood at the curb. He was perfectly cast as the old, lean, poet of

Beacon Hill. His hair was parted. His pale blue eyes sparkled clear. He smiled, unguarded and grateful, bestowing cheer as he parted with his progeny.

Yet under his grin there was heartbreak. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 443

He had a gift for Edna wrapped in Boston Globe.

“Please don’t open this until you get home. Think of me and remember our times together,” he said.

“Rory say good-bye to Epsom. Give him a good, long hug. My last advice please, get rid of those newspapers in the kitchen,” she said.

“Woman. You always have the last word. Go ahead. The meter is burning. So long my dear, so long Rory,” he said.

Rory looked at his mother’s face.

“Don’t cry mom. We will see grandpa soon,” he said.

She looked at Epsom, his age indelibly printed on his skin, his term on Earth nearly ended.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 444

“I’m sorry, I should have come here before. I love you. You are my family,” she said tearing.

She wiped her eyes, tears stung her chapped hands.

Then she turned away and went into the cab. And Rory and

Edna left Epsom and drove off to Logan Airport.

Epsom, the sentinel, was out on the sidewalk as they pulled away. Edna never looked back.

“Your grandfather is a very good man,” she said.

Thus, ended their detour and their stopover into the past, a quick hello and goodbye to the old man. Now they were off to the Golden State.

Before the flight boarded, she went to a phone and called George, the first call they had since she arrived.

“We are at the airport. We are going to be home tonight. How have you been?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 445

“Oh. I’m OK. I had a bit of a shock. Miss Prescott died. I arranged her funeral, they shipped her body back to

Iowa, and now I suppose I’ll have to get another building manager, or maybe I’ll just sell it,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I know you liked her,” Edna said.

“Yes. She was a big supporter of mine. She treated me like a son. She was the last of her kind. How was Epsom?” he asked.

“He is surprisingly well. He bonded very well with

Rory. They had quite a grand time together. He took your son kite flying, they read stories together, he was joking, gentle and affectionate. Just a remarkable man,” she said.

“That’s good. I will fill you in on the other events here. We might have a VIP coming to our house next week,” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 446

“I think our plane is ready to board. We will take a cab from LAX home. Don’t worry about us. See you soon,” she said.

This Time

Under bright sun, Edna’s Los Angeles seemed wrong and rotten. Projection, onto the city, of matters personal, tinted her return to the smoggy metropolis.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 447

She and Rory rode in a cab on the 405 and the 101 through the sprawl, through the yellow air, and the scrim of smog.

She looked out the window. She sighed at her adopted home of stucco boxes, billboards, gas stations, mini malls, cinderblock and plastic signs, parking lots and traffic.

“What am I doing here?” she thought.

She needed solace and calm, and time to deliberate her thoughts, consolidate her energy, but now she was back in the maelstrom.

Only two weeks earlier, before she left town, in her mind, Boston was dark, California was bright.

Now Boston, once derided, became familial and elucidating, a city where she had found reunion, reckoning, and revelation. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 448

Back in Los Angeles, back to an alien city, she was vivified by truth but unsure in how to proceed.

She carried Epsom inside, and had consumed afresh the lean lessons of old New England.

What he said, how he lived; his sparse, humble, honest, stoic, autodidactic days; his frugality, integrity, and sincerity; his humble apologies, his learned walks; his mediations and interventions for Rory, carrying the boy into the snow to soothe his burns, cleaning up his mess when he painted the window with nail polish; all of these acts of the old man, performed so calmly and happily, for all this she experienced in Boston, she was grateful to rediscover her old, left behind father reborn as a guardian angel.

Self-reliance was also a weapon. It freed her from dependence and self-pity, from seeking approval from that cold creature she shared a bed with. If she had to walkout she would. If he left, she had no objection.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 449

Empowered with rebellion she would no longer be dutiful, even as she resumed her duties. As George’s wife she was frankly miserable. She was also bitter, resentful and wounded. Her time in Boston inculcated her against feelings of self-pity. Now, she had to take a stand. Stay in or get out.

Edna no longer felt frail or pitiful. She had her own autonomy and individuality. She survived Boston, coming from suicide and lies. Life no longer scared her, it steeled her.

On the 134, near Cahuenga, Rory woke out of his nap and told her he wanted to go back to Boston.

“But this is our home,” she said.

She looked at his hands, still wrapped in medical bandages and tape from his radiator accident.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 450

“Don’t mention this to your father. Just say you tripped on the sidewalk flying a kite,” she said.

They crossed the Colorado Avenue Bridge. For better or worse they were back home.

They walked up the front path pulling their suitcases.

Tired, she didn’t care to open her purse for her keys so she rang the doorbell.

George sat in his office, ignoring the ringing. She rang a few times more. Then she got her key out. She opened the front door and she and Rory walked in. When she yelled hello, George yelled hello without appearing in person.

There were no kisses or hugs. It was like walking into an empty house.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 451

Later, the family dined at Stottlemeyer’s Deli on

Colorado Boulevard where the sandwiches were big and named after movie stars or politicians. Sinatra, Mickey Mouse,

Phyllis Diller, Lloyd Bridges, Fidel Castro, LBJ and

Charlie Parker were on the menu.

There was no ideology to the names, they just were part of the entertainment of the restaurant, a way to make salami, chopped liver, lox, tuna salad, pastrami and corned beef sound special. If you liked John Wayne or Henry Ford, you would find a sandwich honoring them. If your tastes were Perry Como or Barbra Streisand, they were on the menu too.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 452

In that ecumenical eatery, George talked about Ronald

Reagan, the presumed Republican presidential candidate in

1980.

He would be paying a short Sunday morning visit to the

Gilmore House. George asked Edna to also invite Norma,

Lesley and Dr. Yue to welcome Governor Reagan.

“Wow, that’s exciting Dad!” Ed said.

“I hope he likes our house,” Rory said.

“We are all real Republicans now,” Edna sniped.

George glanced up and down the Stottlemeyer’s Menu.

“They don’t even have a sandwich named after Ronald

Reagan. This is an omission they’ll want to correct,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 453

A Walk in the Park

A few days later Edna met up with Norma. They walked the Arroyo Seco in the gray, damp chill of morning fog.

It had been a long while since they went for one of their sessions exercising and venting.

They talked of Epsom, Boston, and Rory. They discussed

Norma’s new job. She imitated Sy Lu and made Edna laugh.

“Barking dog, can you imagine his gall? I’d like to bite his head off. Maybe I’ll just pee on his leg,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 454

Norma spoke about her conflicts with Lesley. She was shocked by her daughter’s aggressiveness, rebelliousness, and disrespect.

“She has a mouth like a toilet and behaves like a pig.

She is fat, she eats pizza, ice cream, soda pop and she dresses in boys’ clothes. I can’t control her!” Norma said.

“George dropped in when you were away,” she said. She looked at Edna, awaiting reaction. “He had asked me if I wanted to represent him as an agent for some buildings he is looking to sell,” she said.

“He wants to sell some of his properties? That’s news to me. But if you think you can make some money selling them, by all means, go ahead. You’re hard working and honest,” Edna said.

Norma was relieved. She had worried about Edna’s reaction. But Edna was blithely indifferent. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 455

They continued along in their zipped-up sweatshirts and baggy sweats, picking up the pace along the trail, stepping over pebbles and pockmarked paths.

“He has five buildings he wants to unload. Down in

Silver Lake, Echo Park, Highland Park, and East Hollywood.

I guess it’s getting too ethnic for him. Between you and me, when you earn rent every month and your buildings are paid off, who cares if the money comes from a Guatemalan?”

Norma asked.

Edna stopped walking. She looked at Norma with disbelief.

“Are you saying he wants to sell these places because non-whites are moving in?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 456

“I can’t think of another reason. He told me those neighborhoods will never come back. They are ruined for the next 100 years. I disagree, but after all, they are his properties,” Norma said.

“How much are these buildings worth?” Edna asked.

“Those five buildings, 60 units total, could sell together for close to two million dollars. He would pay me

30% commission. I’m being honest with you. These are your properties too,” Norma said.

“Does it make business sense?” Edna asked.

“It think he’s short-sighted. But I’m hard- nosed. I can earn a good commission. And if it makes him feel better to rid himself of these depressed properties, pocket some dough, then I’ll do my job,” Norma said.

“You are a true friend for telling me the truth. That side of him is ugly, truly ugly. Despicable. But that’s who he is,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 457

“He’s evaluating his holdings based on their perceived value and future value,” Norma said.

“He’s redlining. Cutting out bad complexions to save his ass, running away from reality, using his bigotry as a tool of evaluation. I saw that in Boston when they bulldozed the West End, and the South End and rammed the pike through,” Edna said.

They continued walking, in a unity of silence, moving along through the preserve.

Edna stopped.

“I forgot to ask. A big favor! George asked if you,

Lesley and Vincent could come to our house this Sunday morning at 10:30. Are you able?” Edna said.

“What is it? Brunch?” Norma asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 458

“No. Something grander. Governor Reagan will be in town and he is stopping over to meet with George and some other men. And my husband is setting up a photo opportunity with our family and yours,” Edna said.

“Wow. Why would Governor Reagan want to have a photograph taken with my family?” Norma asked.

“Good looking, prosperous, successful, Chinese-

American family. Potential to bring all the Orientals to the Republican Party,” Edna said.

“I do hate Communists. We will gladly come!” Norma said.

The Reagan Visit Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 459

Ronald Reagan, 69, the presumed presidential candidate on the Republican ticket, came to Pasadena that Sunday morning, to meet with George Gilmore. And to pose for photographs with two families who waited for him outside the Gilmore Home. He arrived in a black Cadillac limousine.

George had been contacted by Reagan’s office three weeks ago. And they sent over a football, autographed by LA

Rams Quarterback Pat Haden, along with a tightly planned schedule with the candidate.

Norma wore a navy silk dress. Vincent was in a blue crew neck sweater and gray flannel trousers, and Lesley was in a white oxford shirt and blue skirt, a triad of traditionalism.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 460

On the Gilmore side, red predominated. Edna wore a red silk dress. George had on a red necktie. Ed and Rory wore red crew neck sweaters.

Mr. Reagan emerged from his car, flanked by four

Secret Service agents. He stood 6’1, 190 pounds, his glistening black hair parted, combed and swept up over a wide, handsome face. His cheeks seemed rouged, his coloration hardy, masculine and telegenic. He wore a short-sleeved, yellow polo shirt tucked into tan dress trousers, with well-polished, brown lace up shoes.

He strode over to greet the families, extending his hand to Edna and George first, then he turned to Norma and

Vincent.

“They say Florida has oranges, Georgia has peaches, but, my oh my, California has its beautiful girls,” he said to polite laughter.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 461

He shook hands with the youngsters. “Who is this intelligent and inquisitive young lady?” he asked when he greeted Lesley.

“I’m Lesley, her perfect, little, daughter,” Lesley said, with mockery, annunciating the t’s, embarrassing

Norma.

In shy admiration and respect Norma looked at Reagan and blurted out: “I’m Norma Loh and my whole office is

Republican,” she said.

“Wonderful. What do you do for work Norma?” Reagan asked.

“I work in a real estate office here in the San

Gabriel Valley,” she said.

“If I am elected President, I will work to promote the renewal of official ties with democratic Taiwan,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 462

“Good. We are all fervently anti-communist. My family escaped from Red China to Hong Kong. We hate the communists. You have our support Governor Reagan,” she said.

George was impressed with her frank delivery of an apropos remark, un-coached, right on the mark.

“My wife Edna’s uncle was Republican, Senator Henry

Cabot Lodge, Jr. She is an immigrant from Massachusetts,”

George said.

It was a rare moment of wit for tight mouthed George who usually emitted humor as if he were squeezing out hard bowel movements.

Reagan took both of Edna’s hands and clasped them within his. “You look every bit the Pasadena beauty queen.

With some Boston elegance added in,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 463

Reagan told a story to Norma and Edna and the others.

“43 years ago, in 1937, Barbara Stanwyck and I drove out to Pasadena in her two-tone, Chevrolet Master

Cabriolet. Blue and white colored, white-walled tires, spare tire on the trunk.

“We went to a play at the Pasadena Playhouse starring our dear friend Joel McCrea. The play was a bit of a downer: the character died after getting thrown off a horse. It was ironic, because Joel was a great horseman.

The tragic story depressed Miss Stanwyck and she had a few cocktails before we left Pasadena,” he said.

“We went off, a little buzzed, into the late evening, riding into an old, fallow orchard south of town. We hit a rock on the road, it punctured a tire. And we were flat in the middle of darkness, nowhere at midnight, a man and woman alone, unmarried, at night,” he added with raised eyebrows.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 464

“Miss Stanwyck was wearing a long, purple rayon and silk evening gown. She looked over at me. I could see she was very angry. Because the man, me, should get out and change the tire, that was the proper thing to do. But I hadn’t the slightest idea of how to fix a tire, and I was ashamed by my lack of a manly skill,” he said.

“And then she got out of the car, on her feet and screaming at me!” he recalled.

“You’re going to let me change that tire in my Elsa

Schiaparelli? You know what? I’m going to do it. I’ll show you!” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 465

And then he explained how Miss Stanwyck went around back, took a jack and a lug wrench out of the trunk, and she got down, in her gown, in the dirt, and jacked that car up. She removed the flat, put the spare on, and washed her hands in whiskey kept in a flask under the front seat. And they got back to Los Angeles safe and sound.

“Heaven help us if we had gotten stuck out there, our reputations would have been ruined. I apologize ladies. All my references must sound old to your young ears,” he said.

“Governor Reagan you have a wonderful story for every occasion,” Edna said. George put his hand on his wife’s shoulder as she spoke.

“You were too good a man even back then,” George said with oozy unctuousness.

Reagan emphasized that his tale had a moral.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 466

“The women of California, like Miss Stanwyck changing a flat tire in the dark, are not only beautiful. But they are strong and capable as well. When they are tested, they now how to persevere and succeed. Just like Norma and

Edna,” he said.

“Thank you, Governor. You flatter me too much,” Norma said.

“You recalled so many details so vividly,” Edna said.

“Some politicians believe in improvisation. I believe in rehearsal and getting my lines correct. I can ad-lib.

But only if someone wrote it down for me first!” he said.

“Governor Reagan would you be so kind as to give my sons this autographed football?” George asked, ushering the candidate over to pose for the photo gifting a football to the boys.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 467

After the flash bulbs went off, Mr. Reagan, George, and the Secret Service agents entered the home to discuss fundraising and other strategies.

The important players were inside. Norma, Edna,

Vincent congregated outside.

“He is quite a handsome man. He has a presidential look. More than Jimmy Carter I think,” Norma said.

“He is a simple man built up by the wealthy and the ruling class of the country. I don’t think he can count to ten,” Edna said.

“I disagree. I like his plain talk. He is anti- communist, pro-business, lower taxes, strong defense. What else should he be? We are humiliated by the Iranian hostage situation. We look weak on the world stage. China and

Russia will take advantage of us. I don’t want the US to be

Number 2. We must always be Number 1,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 468

“With Carter we are Number 4,” Vincent said.

“Cantonese joke,” Norma said.

“Huh?” Edna asked.

“The number four sounds like the word for death in

Cantonese. Séi is four and séi is death,” Norma said.

“Did we play our parts well? The pretty little housewives of Pasadena?” Norma asked.

“It felt like an act to me. But are you really for

Reagan?” Edna asked.

“I’m for anyone who will keep my rice bowl full. If he lowers taxes and promotes business that’s good for both of us. Why do you want to vote against your own self- interest?” Norma asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 469

“I’m dubious of the Republican Party. But when he walked up the sidewalk, I thought of the lyrics love walked right in and drove the shadows away. Reagan is sunshine,”

Edna said.

That Summer Blur

Edna fell into the summer of 1980 as Mrs. George

Gilmore, the wife of the Republican Chairman of the San

Gabriel Valley.

She attended events with her husband, dressed in cheerful yellows, greens and reds. Her blonde hair was conservatively coiffed, shorn of the old Farrah look, updated to emulate Joan Collins. She wore pearl earrings and mid-rise heels.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 470

She went to country clubs in Glendale and Arcadia. She spoke with people who talked about Ronald Reagan as if he were a religious leader. The conversations were sometimes unbearably idiotic, but Edna always feigned interest and support for the irritated affluent.

When his parents left the house, Ed babysat for Rory.

He kept his younger brother locked out of Dad’s paneled office, a duty and a priority.

When Rory acted up, Ed took the initiative to run Rory around on bikes, shooting baskets, tossing a football or hiking into the Arroyo. Ed never yelled, he only brought

Rory to the edge of exhaustion to keep his brother out of trouble, and out of their father’s office.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 471

During that summer of blur, George went several times to Washington, DC selling the Reagan gospel as miracle cure, selling it for donor checks to bring home.

Back from his trips, George discussed nothing.

Discreet, secretive, connected, he did his job.

Edna was a prop, a wing woman. Her presence and position sanctified by those who envied and respected Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore and the Republican Party as the pinnacle of benevolence and order.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 472

It was a summer of men in golf clothes and women in

Liberty of London and Lily Pulitzer flower print dresses; it was a season of Golden Retrievers, polo shirts and tennis rackets, horses, highballs, and mint juleps; it was a season for terrific tans, ambitious people, Rolex watches, green shutters, and Emily Post. It was the hour when the architects drew up plans to revive the Doric, the

Ionic, and the Corinthian.

All the coming cruelties of America in the next four decades were born that summer in joyful celebration.

Between parties, Edna wrote sentimental letters to

Epsom.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 473

Her letters, that summer of blur, were an impersonation of purpose, an assurance to her father that she was back in the saddle, riding alongside George, busily making his life productive by charming donors, picking out his shirts and ties, cooking his meals, laughing with her children, and taking her husband’s jackets and slacks to the dry cleaner. Family life was written in flattering font.

She did not tell Epsom that George ate dinner alone in the office. She made an attempt, in correspondence, to write happily, thinking it would uplift her father to receive good news.

But he was wiser and keener than that.

At 95 Mt. Vernon he sat outside on the stoop and read her California letters and saw desperation under the cheer.

Without an expression of pain there was no truth, and he saw she was falling back into that state of mind of that state, surface.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 474

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.”

― Robert Frost

Norma Ascending

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 475

“Barking Dog is the top performer in the office. Three months in a row. You fat, lazy cows and cluttering hens must work harder. As hard as Barking Dog. Or I will throw you all out,” said Sy Lu.

He spoke in front of his crew of agents, extolling

Norma with an honorary animal epithet. Her colleagues stared with hate at Norma and looked with fear at their boss.

She had sold six houses in three months. And they were among the six most expensive properties in the office, with an average asking price of $132,000. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 476

She brought in over $740,000 in sales. And in Mr. Lu’s particularly unfair contract he earned 98% of commissions and paid her two percent. Still she took in about $15,000.

Quietly, regularly, she saved.

Months earlier, George had spoken to her about selling some of his apartments and giving her the listings. His unexpected offer could supplement her income with yet another side job.

Norma was on it. She accepted his offer and asked him when they might tour the properties.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 477

She made a choice to work with him, though she was sickened by, and disapproved of, his personal indiscretions. He was morally loathsome. She segregated her pristine ethical judgments from his diverse immoralities, in a cubicle of moralism, walled off from seeing the unseeable.

She was acting, she reasoned, in the interests of her family. Outwardly, for all to see, she was serving a notable man of power, a confidante of Reagan, a leader in the community, a wealthy scion, a politically favored gent, the husband of her best friend. George Gilmore was a prestige prize.

Yet she could never quite reconcile his outward nobility with his hidden, festering, wrongful homosexuality and extramarital misadventures.

She was pained and guilt ridden about George Gilmore.

She was torn by her duty to earn a good living, and her ethical breach of ignoring and covering up.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 478

But she spent little energy contemplating her moral quandaries. She devoted all her thinking, breathing, lifting and plotting to selling properties.

The more she worked, the less time she had to think and ponder events she could not control. Business became her sedative and her addiction.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 479

Awakening at 6am she called into the answering service, always returning calls to prospective clients, writing down notes on yellow legal pads, marking up her desk organizer, adding cards to the Rolodex. Her days were entwined with the unending travails of house sellers who badgered her for termite inspections and plumbing catastrophes. She was the authority for painters, electricians, handymen. And cheap gardeners to lay down green lawns after lunch. Title companies, attorneys, appraisers, inspectors, insurers, bankers, all badgered her for time and attention.

She worked, from dawn to nearly midnight, without break.

Her professionalism was telegraphed to the public in a frozen faced icy smile. But at home the cheery façade ended.

She was testy, short-tempered, moody. Unlike at work, losing her temper at home carried no financial penalties. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 480

She had little toleration or patience for Lesley who was expected, without question, to excel in school, make her own meals, handle household chores, and even pay bills while Norma and Vincent worked.

As Lesley entered puberty, she got fatter, her breasts got bigger, her butt and legs exploded. She ate also out of anxiety and stress, and the more she ate and faced her mother’s belittlement, the worse she felt.

Norma ragged on Lesley’s torn jeans, sweatshirts, and baseball caps. These manly outfits, the linebacker figure of her daughter, horrified Norma.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 481

Fear of lesbianism floated invisibly in the air around

Norma and Lesley. Neither mother nor daughter spoke of it.

Vincent stayed on the sidelines. He was neutral, quiet, respectful of both his daughter and wife. And Norma resented it.

“Just for once speak up and be a man. Tell her she has to eat better, exercise, and stop wearing shitty clothes,” she told him.

He talked to Lesley. Privately, in her room. He told to just make her mother happy. He said, “I have to live with that woman.” It did not endear Lesley to see him cower. She would fight alone.

The battles raged on. And Lesley was obstinate, unyielding, determined to be herself.

“Why go out like that?” Norma asked.

“Like what?” Lesley asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 482

“Like a slob. What boy will look at you when you get older?” Norma asked.

“This is how I dress. We aren’t living in the 1950s,”

Lesley said.

“Don’t you have any shame? Does it matter to you how hard I work? You don’t work! You only go to class, a luxury

I never had. I worked in my parent’s shop, washing clothes, ironing, running to the market, cooking meals. Even when the monsoon blew through Tsim Sha Tsui! Try walking to the market with the rain and wind pounding down. You barely see wind in Pasadena,” Norma said.

“No wind in Pasadena? Is that my fault too?” Lesley asked.

“I try to correct you, to stop you from self- destruction. You make it into a joke,” Norma said.

“Your attacks on me are destroying my self-esteem. You shame me for being fat,” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 483

“Self-esteem? What does that mean? You need self- respect not self-esteem! These idiotic, psychiatric

American words! Don’t be fat, don’t eat crap, don’t dress like a dyke and you won’t have shame!” Norma said.

“God, just fucking get off my case lady!” Lesley screamed.

“You disrespect me, you disgrace our family,” Norma said.

Neither mother nor daughter would relent. They parted in silence. And later, often, at other hours and other places, they cried alone.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 484

I Couldn’t Control Him

One day Rory went into George’s study and dumped a garbage pail of papers onto his father’s desk. Then he emptied a paper shredder and poured the scraps on the floor.

He took a bottle of Wite-Out and vandalized the desktop with white paint. He used a letter opener to stab a wool chair and pull the stuffing out.

He unplugged his father’s green glass desk lamp and sliced its electrical cord. He pulled books off the shelves and scattered them on the rug.

Lining the windows were two sets of heavy cotton and linen, 18th Century style, Schumacher Shengyou Toile Indigo drapes. They were printed with birds, flowers and Chinese characters. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 485

They were hung on thick wooden poles drilled into plaster, the whole ensemble a particular element of

Chinoiserie, Edna’s middling influence in George’s décor.

Rory yanked the poles out of the wall. Plaster came out in pieces and fell along with the drapes onto a pile.

After the ransacking, Rory walked out, satisfied.

George came home from work. He walked in and knew immediately who did it. He was livid. But he went straight to Ed whom he held responsible for Rory.

“I can’t control him. I’m not his bodyguard,” Ed said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 486

Edna brought the room back to order. A workman came and put the drapes back up. Ed and Edna cleaned the desk, put the books back on the shelf, an upholsterer fetched the torn chair to repair. The room damage was nearly $1,000.

Journey to Westwood

On Columbus Day, a school holiday, Norma and Vincent went to work. Lesley ventured out.

She rode her bike west, across the balustrade lined bridge over the arroyo, along oak lined La Loma, pedaling uphill, in gentle wind, past high-hedged estates and well- watered lawns.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 487

At Avenue 64 she entered working-class Highland Park.

She stopped and dismounted at Church of the Angels, a stone and slate roofed Germanic building high atop a hill, with a clock tower and Romanesque arches, set far back on a large green lawn.

She carried her bike onto the grounds and placed it, unlocked, behind a stone wall, along the sidewalk.

She was free now: free of bike, mother and school.

She walked on foot along Avenue 64, thumbing her way, hitching. Nobody picked her up.

At Meridian St., across from Garvanza Park, she at last saw a potential ride.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 488

A young female nurse, in uniform, pulled her brown

Olds Cutlass out of the driveway, windows rolled down.

“Are you headed into LA?” Lesley asked.

“Yes. Why? You need a ride?” the driver asked.

“I do. Where are you going?” Lesley asked.

“VA Hospital in West LA. You’re welcome to ride with me. I’m Fran,” she said.

Lesley got into the front seat.

“You look like a girl who shouldn’t be hitching a ride. Don’t you know they’re dangerous people out there?”

Fran said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 489

“Day off. Columbus holiday. Thought I’d check out

UCLA,” Lesley said.

Fran appeared to be in her late 20s, possibly a

Filipina. She had a clean, sanctified look in white dress and nursing shoes. Her dark hair was pinned back, proper and hygienic.

They drove. Some chit chat. About working long hours, about Vincent and Norma and Lesley.

They went, along York Avenue, from green light to red light to green light, a stretch of homeliness and ordinariness: auto repair, taco stand, bar, bodega, mural, gas station, wooden house with sofa on porch.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 490

They continued on random roads past billboards advertising beer, soda, cigarettes, airlines, candy, cars and record albums.

They drove, in torpor and haze, traffic and heat, through Los Feliz, Griffith Park, Western to Franklin; stopping, idling, moving, accelerating.

They crept along Santa Monica Boulevard: 25 Cent

Movies for Adults Only, Barney’s Beanery, New Orleans

Square, Bekins Storage, Dan Tana’s, La Masia, Carlton

Cigarettes.

They drove past Abigail’s Flowers, into the long stretch of Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills where landscaped parks moated off residents from traffic. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 491

Lesley dozed off, half asleep, half awake.

“Why don’t you close your eyes and rest? I’ll wake you up in Westwood. I can drop you there. Will that work?” Fran asked.

“Yes,” Lesley said as she slumped into a nap.

On days that come every single day in Los Angeles, ennui is all around. People are working, by napping and dreaming; some write songs or stories, and almost everyone wishes they were someone else.

This day, and the day after tomorrow, the skies will stay blue, and the mountains will be obscured, and the air will lack oxygen. And up high in the hills some deity will dive into a pool and swim under the surface to the rhythm of her beating heart. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 492

And in the distance, over the hill, up to the edge of the ocean, dreams will dance on the horizon, beyond the grasp of mortals.

Los Angeles is an instigator of semi-consciousness, a state of mind and body, overcoming its visitors and inhabitants, pulling them into its somnambulance.

They stopped at the corner of Westwood and Wilshire.

Lesley woke up.

“We’re here. I hope you get where you are going,” Fran said.

“Westwood?” Lesley asked.

“Yes, Westwood. UCLA is that way. If you need a ride home, please call me. Here is my card,” Fran said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 493

Miss Frances DeSantos

RN

Veteran’s Hospital

Tel. 213-478-3711

Lesley exited the car and the brown Cutlass merged into the traffic on Wilshire and headed west.

We Belong to You and Me

Westwood Village: Kinross, Lindbrook, Hilgard, Weyburn and LeConte, converging streets, flowing rivers from mountains, people in cars, pedestrians on foot, a vital and thriving district of joyful enterprise.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 494

Palms swaying, collegians on bikes, girls in cut-offs, boys in board shorts. In the radiance of the daylight,

Westwood was youth in seduction: untragic, unlived, free, passionate, alive.

It was a district of many movie theaters, record shops, restaurants, banks, salons and boutiques.

It was UCLA and white-washed Spanish buildings; modern offices, professionals, lawyers, executives, bankers, secretaries, business owners, shoppers, students. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 495

It was pristine sidewalks swept and hosed down nightly; and vast, well-tended parking lots with uniformed attendants.

It was a city within a city but a better city than the city that surrounded it: controlled, patrolled, planned, and happy.

Westwood in 1980 was a bazaar for wholesome time wasting and white teenage wanderings. Occasionally, non- whites might come here, but they were to appear in the role of servant, not customer, and were quietly unwelcome by the guardians of custom and culture.

Lesley had no idea where she was. She randomly ventured up Lindbrook Drive because it was a street that went along to somewhere else.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 496

She walked past 10853, red roofed tiled, red bricked, a courtyard building with a sign, Wang Bang Celebration

Salon, hanging in a glass window.

She walked right in. Call Me played. The room was purple, pink and gray. Six chairs were occupied, six women waited on seats for five busy stylists who washed, cut and colored.

The mini-blinds were pulled down, slats angled to the floor.

On the walls hung Patrick Nagel illustrations of plum- mouthed, glossy-skinned, aggressively coiffed women with inverted triangle earrings. One was a black-haired woman with a black panther. It alarmed Lesley. It looked like her mother.

Tony approached Lesley. He was in a red silk shirt and black leather pants. He didn’t recognize her. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 497

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Uncle Tony, it’s me, Lesley,” she said.

“Lesley? Are you here with your mother?” he asked.

“No. I kind of ran away. For the day. I’m here alone,” she said.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“I hitched a ride. And I just walked up your street. I didn’t plan anything,” she said.

“Hitched a ride?” he repeated, incredulous.

He was in momentary shock. He could not emote. Anger, joy, embarrassment, reconciliation, all this.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 498

He took her hands and held them, in disbelief at her presence. She was innocent. For her, he had no animosity.

“I have custody of you now. I’m truly touched. May I take you to lunch at Noon?” he asked.

“Ra-ta-tou-ille? Is that how it’s pronounced?” Lesley asked.

They were perusing a menu at Yesterday’s, an eclectic eatery with balcony seating, stained glass ceiling lights, and tall, wooden, spindle-backed, wicker-bottomed chairs.

“Yes. Rat-a-too-ey,” Tony answered.

“You’re so sophisticated,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 499

“Oh yeah? I’m ordering steak. I go for protein. Body- builder food. Order anything you like,” he said.

“You must lift weights a lot,” she said.

“I go five times a week. My goal is to put on twenty pounds of muscle. I want to be invincible,” he said.

He talked about his new apartment and getting out of

Chinatown.

“Oh man. I’m thrilled to be out of there. I have my place in West Hollywood. My salon in Westwood. Business is great. I work out. I go to the beach on Sundays. I’m living well!” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 500

“You have to see my new Camaro. Coffee brown Z28.

Really gorgeous. The top comes off. I get cruised everywhere I go. They look at me with lust. Of course, when

I take off my sunglasses and they see my eyes they speed off,” he said.

After lunch they walked around Westwood.

They went into the Wherehouse at Broxton and Kinross.

The top albums were stacked along the wall for sale at

$5.99 each.

Queen, Blondie, John Lennon, Kenny Rogers, Dianna

Ross, Abba, The Police, AC/DC, Peter Gabriel, The Cure,

Talking Heads, U2, The Clash, Pretenders, Devo, Ramones,

Olivia Newton-John, Billy Joel, Pink Floyd, Michael

Jackson, KC and the Sunshine Band. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 501

Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” played.

Another one bites the dust

Another one bites the dust

And another one gone, and another one gone

Another one bites the dust

Hey, I'm gonna get you, too

Another one bites the dust.

He bought Lesley three albums: John Lennon, Olivia

Newton-John and Billy Joel. He told her to tell her mother he bought them. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 502

He took notice of Lesley: her walk, her thick legs, her guy jeans, her baseball cap, her men’s jean jacket, and black construction boots.

She was gay. Whether she realized it or not. It was probably the reason her mother was so vehement against gay people.

They went past a men’s store, Alandale’s.

“Do you recognize this location?” he asked.

“No. Why?” Lesley asked.

“Famous scene with Richard Gere in American Gigolo. He shops here in the movie. I have a huge crush on him. I am practically his stalker,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 503

Later that afternoon he insisted on driving her home to Pasadena. She climbed into the low passenger seat of his brown Z28. The hatch roof panels were stored in the trunk.

He wore a loud, colorful sweater that she admired.

“Henry Grethel, Saks Fifth Avenue, $110. Am I spoiling myself? I guess someone has to buy me a gift,” he said.

He showed off his 18 Carat gold Cartier watch.

It was almost dark when they crossed the lamp-lit

Colorado Street Bridge over the Arroyo Seco. He stopped in front of the Gilmore Home, a block away from Lesley’s house.

“I don’t want to drive you right up to your house.

Your mother might see me,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 504

“That’s all right. I can walk,” she said.

As they sat in the car, George Gilmore pulled into his driveway. He walked out of his car, briefcase in hand, and looked across the road at the headlights but couldn’t see

Tony or Lesley in the dark.

Tony shook his head.

“He never changes. He comes home at 7, the regular family man, home from his duties, assuming his role, guilty as hell, feigning fatherhood. I hate him,” Tony said.

“I know the story. My parents had a fight about you and him,” Lesley said.

“You’re too young to know such things,” Tony said.

“I’m practically 14. I know about sex,” she said.

“Your mother won’t speak to me,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 505

“She’s a hypocrite. She does business with Gilmore.

She’s selling his buildings. She has no problem making money off him. Why are you bad Tony? You cheated with him but really you didn’t cheat. You aren’t married. He was the cheater. He has a wife! I think he’s more wrong than you!” she said.

“Sik Ling Mung,” he muttered.

“What?” she asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 506

“Lemons. To your mother I’m like a bitter lemon to be expelled and spit out. She would put me in Lai Chi Kok with the lepers if she could. I’m an outcast in our family. I can’t even be caned, because my crime cannot be spoken aloud. They will quarantine me, cast me out, reject me. An exile with no lover. Big muscles, nice car, fancy watch, celebrity hair stylist,” he said.

“She’s a witch. She yells and then she goes silent, for days. She slams a door and goes into her bedroom. And the whole house is terrorized until she comes out in her power suit with her high-heels, padded shoulders and starts barking orders. She always talks about family values.

Chinese values. Look at how she treats you! You are family.

As she would say that’s the bottom line!” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 507

“You have to earn love in a Chinese family. Nobody gets it for free. That means you get married, you have children, you take care of your parents. We jook kok people who were born in the old country, we carry the old customs like poison in our blood. How little I really matter. I’m alone. A nothing to them. I will die alone after I live alone. That’s the truth of it,” he said.

“I don’t think it will always be this way. Times change,” Lesley said.

“Perhaps,” he said, not believing.

“I think you should drive me right up to my house.

Fuck her,” she said.

They drove up the street, slowly, and turned onto

California Terrace and parked in front of Norma’s house.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 508

Lesley clenched Tony’s right hand resting on the stick shift.

“Turn off the car. You need to come in with me. You have to explain how I came home late,” she said.

“No please. Don’t drag me into there. Just take your record albums,” he said.

“My father will be happy to see you. Please come in,” she said.

He sat and looked at her. Neither one moved. Then he pounded the steering wheel.

“Fuck it. Let’s go in,” he said.

And then they walked up the driveway into the unknown.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 509

Opium

There was a strong evening wind when Lesley and Tony got out of the Camaro and walked up the driveway in trepidation.

“Wait here. I’ll go in first,” Lesley said.

He waited cautiously behind a screen door. He could see Vincent eating alone.

She carried her three record albums into the house and stacked them against a wall and took off her shoes.

Her father sat at the small kitchen table reading the

Los Angeles Times, half-folded paper over chicken and rice.

He asked her if she had eaten.

“Big lunch. We have a guest,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 510

Tony came in sock feet.

Vincent stood up, open-armed, positive, smiling.

“Hello Vince. Great to see you man!” Tony said.

“Come in! Come in! What brings you here? What’s going on? Please sit down. Let me get you something to eat,”

Vincent said.

Tony stood, leaning against the wall, wary of being too comfortable.

“No thank you. I had a surprise visit from your daughter. She came all the way to my salon in Westwood.

Just walked in. We had lunch and I took her around the village. And we drove home. It was one of my happiest days ever, a real treat, seeing her,” Tony said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 511

Vincent looked at Lesley.

“Westwood? How? You don’t know Los Angeles. Do you even know where the bus is?” Vincent asked.

“I rode my bike to Highland Park. Whoops! I forgot I left it somewhere. I hitched a ride with a nurse. I knew she was safe,” Lesley said.

“A lot of foolish decisions today. Let’s talk about this later,” Vincent said.

“I think she meant well. She came to give me a hug and a kind word. How much that meant to me you’ll never know,”

Tony said.

Vincent asked Lesley to clean up, get her homework together, say good night and thank Tony.

She obeyed and she left the room. And the two men were at ease, at odds, not quite sure of what to say.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 512

They volleyed, speaking as men speak, in a terse, upbeat language, with brevity.

“How you doing?”

“Fantastic.”

“How is work?”

“Busy.”

“Oh great.”

Tony mentioned clients Jodie Foster, Kristy McNichol,

Meredith Baxter-Birney, and Olivia Newton John.

“All the cute young girls,” Vincent remarked.

They felt a gust of wind.

The clack of heels on the walkway and the aggressive, musky, spicy, scent of Opium. Jasmine, and roses and unease.

The screen door banged. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 513

Norma was home, heralding another storm.

She walked in dressed in her black and white,

Giafranco Ferre large patterned houndstooth blazer and skirt suit.

She looked at Tony.

“What is this all about?” she asked.

“Tony brought our daughter home from Westwood,”

Vincent said.

“Westwood? What was she doing there?” Norma asked.

“Your daughter found her way. She walked into my place out of the blue,” Tony said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 514

“I don’t believe that. How would she get to Westwood?

She’s 13. She doesn’t drive. Did you invite her? Did you send a car to pick her up? What is this all about?” Norma asked.

“I told you. She walked right into my shop. I took her to lunch at Yesterday’s. We shopped for some records. I drove her back here. That’s the whole truth,” he said.

“That makes no sense. She wouldn’t just run off and visit you. She wouldn’t disobey me. She can’t find her way around this city by herself,” she said

Vincent poured whiskey into three glasses, kept one and handed the one each to Norma and Tony.

“Norma sit down. We don’t need a scene,” Vincent said.

She put her leather briefcase on the table, took her jacket off and laid it on the table. She sat, legs crossed, arms folded, warding off any reconciliation or understanding. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 515

Tony stood and sipped, awaiting her verdict which was already reached.

“I was at work when your daughter came in. I looked after her, took her to lunch, treated her to some record albums, drove her back to your little home. I have nothing more to say to you. Thank you for the whiskey. Good night,”

Tony said.

Norma was silent.

Vincent walked outside with Tony.

“Your little home,” Norma muttered to herself.

The Santa Ana’s blew furiously. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 516

The men walked to Tony’s car, down the driveway, against the wind, talking over gusts.

“She’s tired. We both appreciate your kindness and what you did for Lesley today. Let Norma be,” Vincent said.

At the Camaro, Tony spoke.

“Your daughter has the right instincts. She’s has a real heart, a true Chinese heart, because she loves all of her family without condition. Maybe your wife can learn something from Lesley. Good night,” Tony said.

“Good night. Safe drive,” Vincent said.

Tony drove off. And the doctor stood in the wind and the darkness pausing to think before he went back in.

A loving marriage sometimes requires a comfortable accommodation with hate.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 517

He walked into the kitchen. Norma had left. He bussed dirty plates to the sink. He washed and rinsed and stacked, turned off the light, and checked the doors to see if they were all locked for the night.

Half Thinking Days

Nine days before the election, George went up to the

Reagan Ranch in Santa Barbara to meet with power brokers and political strategists. Reagan was on the road and did not attend. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 518

Edna stayed home with the boys. It was a restorative interval of food and quiet. The weather was cooler, there were even some days and nights of rain. With George gone the house was free of tension and open to conversation.

It was chilly enough to light a fire, and near enough, to the holidays, for vanilla candles, red wine and mohair.

She made several dinners with autumn foods: baked squash and roast pork with Brussel sprouts, roast chicken with sweet onions, beef stew, BBQ ribs, scallops with lemons and rosemary, baked pears, and cranberry bread.

One night, Ginger Nordquist came over for wine.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 519

She was, as usual, exuberant, busty, and funny. She was always laughing, self-mocking, mimicking. She was tall and big-boned, a bumper into things. And her lumbering insobriety endangered fragile antiques. Edna kept her in the kitchen where she could do no damage and spills could be wiped up easily.

The boys came in to say hello.

“Look at them. So handsome! The All-American family,” she said.

Ginger, on her fourth glass, looked at Ed.

“He is just George junior all the way. You must be so proud,” she said.

Ed was embarrassed. But dutiful, polite, and smiling.

“Thank you. I guess,” he said.

Edna, head turned away from Ginger, nodded to them to exit.

“Good night Mrs. Nordquist,” Rory said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 520

“Yeah, good night. Good seeing you,” Ed said.

“Good night? Already?” she asked.

“Homework!” Rory said.

When the boys left, Ginger praised their handsomeness and manners. She also validated absent George, now a local luminary in the Republican Party.

“I heard he’s way up in the Reagan machine or whatever you call it. George is a quiet power broker. And Ronnie himself was in this very house! Reagan is going to whup

Carter, that little hillbilly peanut farmer!” she said.

“Yep. George is gunning for Ronnie,” Edna said.

“You’re not? Your expression betrays some reluctance towards Mr. R,” Ginger said.

“I’ll support whoever wins. I don’t like politics or politicians. I concentrate on my family, my own life. These men in Washington, what do they matter to me?” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 521

“That’s right. We are the fortunate ones. We have good husbands who make good money. We live in a lovely area. We are well taken care of. Look at our homes, our clothes, our blessings. As long as I can walk to church and the liquor store. That’s all we can hope for in this world,” Ginger said.

Her summary of their lives was passivity guided by good fortune. It shrunk their existence into rote cliché.

Futile lyrics played for Edna:

Is that all there is, is that all there is

If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing

Let's break out the booze and have a ball

If that's all there is4

The banality of a frozen dinner heated up in a kitchen stove philosophy.

4 Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Jerry Leiber / Mike Stoller

Is That All There Is lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 522

Edna stared off far. She had no joy sharing the high estimation.

Ginger intuited moroseness. She never, in her upbeat life, stuck around it.

“I have to get home and cook for a business dinner tomorrow night! I am making sukiyaki for my husband’s client coming in from The Orient. It’s thinly sliced meat with cabbage, noodles, tofu, and soy sauce. LaChoy! I’m serving sake and I might even wear a kimono! I’m going all out!” she said.

“That’s exciting. Where is he visiting from, Tokyo?”

Edna asked.

“Taipei. Bank of Taiwan,” Ginger said, slipping into a pink cardigan, readying herself to leave, checking her makeup in a handy butter knife. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 523

“I know what you’re thinking and it’s true. I’m just a stupid rich woman who doesn’t make any attempt to educate myself in other cultures. I admit I don’t give a fig. How’s

Norma?” Ginger asked.

“Very well, I think,” Edna said.

“Oh great. She will do very well with all her people in Alhambra and Monterey Park. And from what I’m seeing they’re moving into Arcadia and San Marino,” Ginger said, gulping her last glass of red wine before hitting the road.

She stood up and fumbled with her purse. And took her car keys out which she then dropped on the floor.

“Are you OK?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 524

“Of course! I only live up the road. The cops know my

Bentley. You think they’d pull me over? We hire those retired cops for our parties, $10 bucks an hour to sit on their fat asses and park cars,” she said.

“Just the same,” Edna said.

“Let’s try and get together after the election. I’m sure you and George have a full plate these days. Wonderful to see you and the boys. Give my best to your husband,”

Ginger said. She kissed Edna and was off.

That night, and the days thereafter, the silence and emptiness returned.

George was gone. Even in their bitterness and rancor

Edna and he shared an existence, a deformed union. But in his absence Edna was forced to make purpose of solitude. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 525

It was all so futile and so useless, these days of chores: cleaning, shopping, cooking, volunteering at the museum; routine, suffocating, empty. Doing things for the sake of doing-she had to stop doing that.

She now regretted Ginger’s visit, marking it as the low point of vacuity, a desperation move to ward off boredom, inviting a jejune snob, an incurious, vulgar, and provincial woman, self-congratulatory in privilege, reflecting grossly the deleterious bubble of affluence in

Pasadena. Ginger and her ilk, a honey trap, of money and status, ingested by Edna, now inducing her to vomit. She finally knew she wanted nothing to do with Ginger or

Harriet. She would rather be alone then befriended by those two.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 526

Whatever happened to the noble and admirable Edna from

Boston? The one her father held up as person of character and nobility? The one who venerated poetry, history and art? The one who cared about ideas, world events, the vitality of intellect? How did she fall in with Ginger, the hulking, gauche Bentley driver, a self-described stupid, rich woman who drunk drove her way back to the mansion, supremely confident that her luxury car and marquee name would shelter her from a DUI conviction, certain that her life threatening intoxication on the road was just a hoot and a metaphorical finger in the soppy face of that fat cop.

Immunity from consequence for the well born.

Why associate with it?

One night she sat down on her bed, ready to sleep.

Then she got up, looked underneath and pulled out a small package from her father she had hidden for months.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 527

Inside was a handwritten note and a gift under bubble wrap.

Dear Edna,

After your sister died, I kept this piece of jewelry she wore the night she died.

I hope you won’t think this maudlin or jarring. I’m just handing over what I believe belongs to you more than me.

You may or may not remember this diamond heart necklace. A gift to Rebecca on her 18th birthday. Purchased from Shreve, Crump and Low on Newbury Street. It was quite expensive. I remember it cost $424.55.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 528

I try to forget the pain but I cannot forget love. Or

Rebecca. Or you. I love you both.

Your father,

Epsom

She took the necklace, a diamond and heart shaped pendant. She placed it in her hand, regarding it, this piece that had also fallen with Rebecca from that bridge onto the Mass Pike.

A dead remnant intact and unharmed.

From this, Edna conjured up the grotesque.

Rebecca run over, smashed, bloodied, torn, ripped, scattered, along the highway, as dead as a squirrel run over by a car.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 529

Edna put the necklace in the package, inside the dresser drawer. She crawled under the blanket, turned off the bedside lamp.

Her door was half open, the light in the hall was on.

Then Rory walked in. He wore biplane printed cotton pajamas, little boy aviator, his whimsy and sweetness as irresistible as a puppy.

“Don’t you knock?” Edna asked.

“What was that?” Rory said.

“What was what?” Edna asked.

“What you put in that drawer,” he said.

“Something private,” she said.

“I peeked,” he said as he sat down on the bed.

“I had a dream. Now I can’t sleep. What were you doing before I walked in?” he asked.

She sat up, turned the lamp back on, opened the drawer, removed the package and took it out the necklace.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 530

“Remember when your grandfather handed me something as we left for the airport? And he said to wait until we got home to open it? It was this, a gift he bought for your

Aunt Rebecca,” she said.

She handed the heart necklace to Rory. He looked at it, uninterested, bored as a boy could be.

“She wore it every day for three years and she never took it off,” Edna said.

“What did she look like?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 531

“A lovely young girl, barely a woman, a junior in college. Long black hair, big eyes done up with eyeliner, pink lips. All the joy, youth, and promise of life ahead of her,” Edna said.

“Why did she kill herself? Why?” Rory asked.

“We’ll never know. There are two or more victims of a suicide. The dead person, of course. And the living dead, who ask questions with no answers. Only the ghost remains, haunting and taunting,” Edna said.

Edna had to discuss what she had once hoped to bury.

Talk again. But now, as a mother, to explain the unfathomable with care and kindness. She spoke as earnestly as possible without falling to pieces.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 532

“It’s impossible to know what was in her head. She was ill with the experimentations of that time: drugs, LSD. And she was sensitive, frail, perceptive. She was a misbehaved angel, led to the bridge railing by those monstrous substances in her head. And then she jumped and died,” Edna said.

She thought she would cry. But a rage came over the tired woman, a nocturnal fury that poured out in condemnation.

“Ultimately, we make choices in our life, and I’m sorry to say Rebecca chose self-destruction. Maybe I’m cruel. But I’m still very, very angry. She destroyed her life, her father’s and quite a bit of mine. Her death sent me into exile to California. Because of her I too jumped off the road. It all started at that bridge over the Mass

Pike,” Edna said.

Rory twirled the necklace around.

“Is this bad luck?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 533

“This isn’t bad luck or good luck. It’s what you think that matters. It has no power Rory. It’s just a necklace,” she said.

“I’m tired. I think I’m going to go back to my room,” he said.

“Go ahead. Do you need me to tuck you in?” she asked.

“Mom! How old am I!” he said.

The Pat Haden Sequel

In Santa Barbara, at the Reagan Ranch office den where the horse racing prints hung over fax machine and copier,

George, and Lester Woodbury, a bland, agreeable, rotund middle-aged volunteer, discussed their young intern.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 534

“He looks like Pat Haden, Rams quarterback. He stopped by the store with political brochures. The wifey likes him.

He came up here working houses, canvassing, passing out materials, knocking on doors. He went into the Mexican area of Santa Barbara and I found him walking along Gutierrez

St. We ended up having lunch, took him out for tacos,”

Lester said.

“Here he comes. Good looking kid. Pat Haden! Took him for tacos, now he’s here working for Reagan,” Lester said.

The Kid walked out of the bathroom, hands washed, middle parted, long blond hair. George latched his eyes onto him. The Kid stacked photocopies in neat bundles and tied thin string around each pile. He was orderly, quiet and diligent.

“He works hard. Nice looking, real handsome. We’ll be working for him one day,” Woodbury said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 535

“He fits in. Well groomed, nice smooth trousers and ironed shirt. Not a hippie,” George joked.

“I wish I had a son just like him. I hope he’s in the vanguard of what young men are turning out to be these days. The 80s generation, a conservative renaissance, headed out to the golf course,” Woodbury said.

“Not a hippie,” George joked again.

The Kid heard.

“Not in the least. I hate hippies. They tear things down and they don’t build them up,” The Kid said, ears attuned to the conversation.

“I’m about ready to get back to Pasadena. What is the plan?” George asked.

“You wrote the checks. That’s the plan. Thank you.

I’ll deposit them in town today,” Woodbury said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 536

“I suppose you need to get back to the motel and check out,” Woodbury said, folding a couple of checks into his wallet.

“I just threw my bag in my car. Already out. Ready to leave and go back to the torture chamber,” George said.

“I won’t ask,” Woodbury said.

“You’re headed back to LA.? I was wondering if you could give me a lift to the train?” The Kid asked.

“Train? Nobody that matters rides the train. Where are you going?” George asked.

“Near downtown LA. Silver Lake. My grandparents. Is that convenient?” he asked.

“Sure is. Right near the 101 and the 110. I’m right up the 110,” George said.

The Kid shook George’s hand.

“Theo Kidd, nice to meet you,” he said.

“George,” George said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 537

George knew. He had met him, he had been with him, that hustler who looked like Pat Haden.

Late afternoon, they left the ranch and drove down the

101. They went not far, exited at a road in Summerland, and parked at Loon Point, in a wooded lot, aside the Amtrak train tracks near the ocean.

They walked, via a dirt and sand path, walled off by high sandy cliffs, onto the beach, emerging into a littoral margin.

Two horseback riders rode past through surf, kicking up spray. The wind was chilly, the fog was omnipotent. Then the horsemen were out of sight, George and Theo were alone on the rocky shore.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 538

Loon Point. It was isolated from the road and prying eyes. It lulled lovers. George had often driven past the exit. He had marked it in his mind as a place to one day soon bring a friend.

“Up for a swim?” George asked.

“Sure,” Theo answered.

Theo took off his clothes, threw them on the sand and ran into the ocean. George followed into the frothy sea, naked.

They laughed and bobbed in the cold ocean, coming up for air, carried along with the currents, pulling them down shore far from their clothes.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 539

They swam into the shallows, and sat on the bed of the sea, bodies underwater, heads above, foam and wave, moving and rocking.

“Oh, man. This feels so good. Yesterday I was walking around Santa Barbara sweating like a pig. I was ready to dump all those Reagan brochures in the trash and run down to the beach. I wanted to be here the whole weekend,” Theo said.

“Come closer. I want to hold you,” George said.

Theo went to George, but behind him. He pulled him down into the water, pressing on his shoulders, holding him around his waist from behind.

Teeth chattering, Theo was cold and said he wanted to get out.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 540

And then he broke away and walked up onto the sand. He grabbed his shirt, dick hanging out, and wiped down his body, looking around to see if anyone else was on the beach. Dried sufficiently, he put on his pants.

George watched from the water, and then came out. His wet, flat feet hit the sand. He dried off. Theo watched him and chuckled. George sponged off with his oxford shirt and made a towel out of his wool V-neck sweater. He put on his boxers and khakis. It all took too long.

Then hiked barefoot up the dark path into the shaded parking lot.

Back in the car, alone in the lot, they sat in silence. George looked at Theo, waiting for a move.

“I guess if this were a horror movie we’d have to be punished ‘bout now. Maybe an insane killer with a gun hiding in the bushes,” Theo said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 541

“I want to suck you. Can you keep an eye out for other cars?” George asked.

“Yeah. Go ahead. But I still charge. $60. Just suck me. I don’t do nothing else,” Theo said, sinking down, drawing down his pants as open mouthed George covered him.

Pent up by weeks with no sex, George went hard, ravenously, savoring every inch of Theo’s hard cock and precum.

Theo tasted oceanic, like a seafood delicacy.

So damn good, so enormously satisfying. And then the kid shot a load into George who swallowed, and held his mouth locked onto the hustler’s cock, enjoying unsurpassed, indescribable pleasure.

Then it was over. George wiped his mouth with a

Kleenex. Theo fell asleep. There were no lights in the parking lot. It was dark, past closing.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 542

George started the car. He turned on the headlights and drove, slowly, like an alligator on land, along Padaro

Lane, until it merged onto the 101 South. He stayed in the right lane, slow, unrushed, wanting to stretch out time with young Theo. He watched the kid sleep, his beautiful, boyish face and blonde hair leaning along the door sill, sleeping the whole way down to the city, two hours, until

Silverlake. Almost at the Benton Way exit off the Hollywood

Freeway, the cars stopped at an accident. Firetrucks and ambulances, red lights and cop cars, and George maneuvered through it and got onto the exit ramp. Theo dozed.

The young could sleep through anything.

Then Theo awoke with perfect logistical timing.

“You can drop me off at Sunset and Benton Way,” he said.

George stopped near Sunset.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 543

“Are you really living with your grandparents?” George asked.

“Yeah. They live up there on that high hill. Grandpa built his house in ‘53 when this was still a good area. Mom grew up here. Dad, who knows, he’s somewhere. The folks who raised me are happy now. I’m a Republican. They like how

I’ve turned out. If you had me you’d be pleased too,” he said.

“Thank you for your hard work. You were a pleasure. I know Woodbury appreciated you too,” George said.

“Do you think you can put in a good word for me with the Reagan staff? And I don’t mean to hustle you but how about $60?” the kid asked.

“How about $100? And yes, I’ll write up an excellent reference for you, and I’m sure they can find a job for you up at the ranch,” George said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 544

“Let me shake your hand. You are a great man. You know that? A real fine gentleman! This is what I need to get my ass in gear and out of my grandparents’ house,” Theo said.

He got out of the car. He did a thumbs up to George.

And he walked down Sunset, just like he did the last time.

George thought about The Kid. He wasn’t really a hustler. He was a political guy. He had a double life. Away from home he was somebody else. Like George, Theo was basically a wholesome person from a fine family.

The Door Comes Down

Edna napped. She woke up after she heard the garage door opening.

George was back home from Santa Barbara. He had a surprise waiting inside. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 545

Yesterday, she had hired a handyman to remove the locked wooden door to George’s study.

It was an action both impulsive and deeply considered.

That locked study door, his door, was meant to keep her and Rory out. And she thought about discussing its removal with him. But then she thought again. And decided to get rid of it when he was out of town.

Her mind was at ease. She was refortified, committed, assured and ready to stand up for herself. She welcomed confrontation.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 546

She was in bed when she heard him come in: the hard shoes on the floor, the traveler’s sigh, the luggage set down; a bathroom door, a ventilation fan, a flushing toilet, a running faucet.

He had no welcome here. Why would he? He never bothered to call. Gone four days. No “I arrived safely. How are you and the boys doing?” His return was meaningless. He simply came home, not as a father or husband, but like an alien.

She reasoned that he did not really deserve respect, consideration, or kindness. He was secretive, selfish and contemptible.

The fed-up wife had taken her husband’s security door away. It was long overdue.

In her protest mode she was advised by the mindful voice of the deceased, her sister. Rebecca would have despised George. The echo of the deadly beloved told Edna to fight back. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 547

Edna continued to wear her sister’s heart shaped necklace with the little diamonds on it. She felt closer to her now, speaking to her, listening to a ghost’s counsel, heart to heart.

Edna magically felt that she was stronger, gaining otherworldly powers though the pendant.

When George was away, she slept very well. Her nights were restful. Her days were sublimely peaceful.

Now it was midnight, the boys were asleep.

George would have to come down the hall and pass the missing study door and acknowledge its disappearance before he came into the bedroom. She waited, open eyed, under the covers for him. And then she saw him in the darkness.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 548

He stood as a dark form in the hall, near the front door, an overdoor transom window pulling in the yellow light from exterior lamps, a coward’s color, the shade of urine and lemon and bitterness, illuminating his head by spotlight, as if on stage, lighting not his full humanity, only his ersatz embodiment looming out there beyond the bedroom.

“Where is my study door?” the shadow inquired.

“It’s gone. It’s been taken down. Nothing in your study was disturbed, but the door with the deadbolt is gone for good,” she said.

“I’m tired. Let me go to sleep. I’ll take my rest in the study if that would make you happy,” he said.

“As long as you sleep away from me, I’ll be happy,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 549

Grand Avenue

It was the day after Ronald Reagan was elected. Norma toured a nearly foreclosed estate on Grand Avenue, just up the hill from her house on California Terrace. She had found, on her own, a large house for sale. She went, on her own, to scout it, and returned three times. And made up her mind. She would buy it. And tell Vincent and Lesley they were moving.

This was her third visit here.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 550

Cheered by the new decade and its new president, she felt richer, more confident, more self-assured in her rock- solid belief in free enterprise and The American Dream. She and Vincent were earning good money. She was a name and a face on many bus benches throughout the San Gabriel Valley.

222 S. Grand Avenue was a white, two-story place, built 1912, with an expansive porch, set back on a wide, tree shaded lawn.

The interior was spacious, yet intimate; elegant, yet humble. There were polished oak floors, a long living room with French doors, a fireplace and sunroom. A wide center hall staircase led up to seven bedrooms and seven bathrooms.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 551

The first floor contained a proper dining room with decorative wall moldings, and more French doors that opened to a cavernous front porch. In the back of the house was a small, dated kitchen with white cabinets, black and white linoleum floor, and a back-door porch with a dog door and a milk cupboard.

She walked into the backyard, an overgrown, randomly planted, dried up morass of bushes, high grasses, weeds, eucalyptus, firs and palms. She saw disorder and waste. She would need to make many plants redundant, re-organize the garden, and set goals for its future growth and success under professionally managed, measurably optimal amounts of water, sun and fertilizer.

No matter the condition of the house and grounds, only the address really mattered. It was a very fine location, on a street with many large, old estates, just one block from Orange Grove Avenue and the Rose Parade. She would now live in that flowery, sunny, happily televised kingdom she had seen broadcasted yearly on Hong Kong’s TVB.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 552

Norma’s good luck in finding this property had come at the expense of someone else’s bad fortune.

The property owners were quite desperate. The husband had lost his job, his wife was ill with cancer, they wanted to move back to suburban Chicago. Interest rates were high, and there were no buyers. People were scared about the election. The economy was fragile. Fear all around.

The house needed a new roof, new plumbing, and an electrical upgrade. It had no air-conditioning. And the

1940s kitchen and bathrooms were completely inadequate for the 1980s.

There was a mechanic’s lien on the house and two years of unpaid, overdue property taxes.

They were asking $179,000 and nobody had bid on the property. The mortgage payments and taxes totaled just over two grand a month.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 553

But Norma appraised the home, and as formidable as its faults seemed, they could afford it.

She drove back down the hill to 156 California

Terrace. Vincent was walking out the door on his way to the hospital. They spoke on the driveway.

“222 South Grand Avenue. What do you think?” she asked.

“So early in the day. Do I have to make a decision? he said.

“We have been muddling over this for days. It’s time to act,” she said.

“Go ahead. Put in an offer. You know best,” he said.

“You trust me without seeing it?” she asked.

“Implicitly,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 554

He kissed her, gently, tenderly. She felt emotional.

She clasped her hands with his.

“I have some time before I go to work. Do you want to come back in?” she asked.

“Oh that. Now I have to be the one to postpone love. I have a conference at 9,” he said.

“Ok. Maybe tonight or tomorrow,” she said.

He opened the car door. But he paused, standing and contemplating and reviewing their lives.

“I came from Chiu Chow to the squatter huts at Shek

Kip Mei. And you had an indoor toilet and a well for water in back next to the chicken coop. I thought you were a very rich girl. If we got a plate of Dan Dan Noodles at Wing Lai

Yuen we were living high. I had maybe one góng yùn in my wallet for a week. When they rationed water, we used to take a shower once a week. Christmas Day 1953. When all those houses burned down. We smelled like smoke, we ate smoke, drank smoke and peed smoke. And we vowed to one day get out. All the enemies in life we fought, all the tough times, all the battles against the enemies of happiness.

Are we not lucky now?” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 555

“We are. Let me tell you how lucky. There will be seven bathrooms in the new house. Take a shower in a different room every day of the week,” she said.

He laughed. He smiled, with thought and care, wistfully, sentimentally. He was softer than she. He cried easier, his eyes spoke through silence, thorough observation he played quiet chords of mood.

“Good-bye, then,” he said.

“Yes. Have a productive day,” she said.

She walked back into the house. And he drove off to work, up the hill, passing another milestone.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 556

The Six Worst Properties

Norma drove around Temple Street near Glendale Blvd. past bodegas, gas stations, halfway houses, and storefront churches where the doors were open and the hymns poured out.

She went west of downtown, along Washington Boulevard.

She parked her car and walked up to a 60- year-old, yellow brick building. Old Hispanic women sat outside on chairs, children played. She perused the area and went back in her car.

She drove uphill on Normandie Avenue in East

Hollywood. And she stopped at a white columned apartment house, once a fine mansion, now subdivided and shabby.

George said it was full of illegals and criminals. And he wanted to sell it.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 557

She explored near Dodger Stadium at another one of his properties: a building with seven apartments and twelve families. The roster of tenants were Korean, Black,

Mexican, Guatemalan, Honduran and Salvadoran. George had enough of them, the children and their parents and relations, their destructions and demands, and he asked

Norma to sell that one too.

Then she drove to Kenmore near Olympic. And walked up to the final building on George’s death list.

This last Gilmore property of the day was the saddest: an old, white, peeled paint, wooden house with sagging porch. A worn roof, covered in blue tarps, kept out the rain. Multi-colored bath towels, and improvised awnings were nailed along the first-floor overhang. She took some

Polaroids. And went back to her car.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 558

She sat tired and worn out in her parked Cadillac, windows rolled down. Her day of investigations brought her to glumness.

She contrasted, now to then, Hong Kong to California.

Her journey from impoverishment. She was young, poor and exploited. Now she was the antithesis: older, wealthy, exploiter.

Her evolution befuddled her. She felt a pang of conscience. The poor people who lived here: how did they matter in this equation? These human beings were used as valuations in the worth of properties. As if they were slaves, essential parts in a business, easily disposed of when their condition jeopardized profit.

Who would own these after George sold them? Who had the right to pull a home out from under a family and sell to another owner? And was Norma complicit in this? These thoughts haunted her.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 559

She went back in time, not to sadness, but to happiness. She cheered herself thinking of hurrying along

Waterloo Road, the Number 7 Bus, books in hand, at the doors of Maryknoll Convent School. A girl in the beginning of her story.

Once, young, she had lived dreaming the possibilities of the United States of America, how wonderful it would be to live there, as an American citizen, a free, rich, westerner.

She got what she wanted. Indeed, she achieved those markers of ascent that mattered: citizenship, property, marriage, family, and money.

Yet she was forever the alien seeking naturalization, a Chinese woman of the diaspora, identity found and lost.

And a new nation that terrifyingly told her: make-up your own unique story. Foreign to her was a life of self- invention. A Chinese life was a story told to you by your parents which you followed obediently. An individual existed only for the good of family; not to live, as an

American, made for one’s own joy alone, self-destructively. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 560

Around her she saw families.

People walked past her car: two Asian children on bicycles, a young Latina with a bag of laundry and two pre- school boys; a bearded old black man, dignified and reverent, brown suit and red tie, dark Homburg hat and polished wood cane.

She was more like them then they knew. She was a working immigrant, no better than the ones who walked by her Cadillac.

The Six Worst Properties. Those are what George called them. She thought his plan was foolish and calamitous, lacking foresight, steered by prejudice and injurious to his own family.

There were some 53 units whose average rent was $169 a month which earned him nearly $9,000 a year. But he believed that minorities were taking over these declining assets, and his own image and wealth would suffer by owning these properties. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 561

He saw no possibility for improvement in the prospects of these buildings near downtown Los Angeles.

He told Norma, with analytical dispassion, that he was becoming like those Jew slumlords. And he was above that.

His prejudices were ethical, his biases moral, his contempt for non-whites purely economic. It was not racial, it was dollars and sense.

Norma had researched and analyzed the spreadsheets of the buildings, their rent rolls, and their small, but calculable yearly increases in property value.

If George held onto his apartments, he would possibly be able to sell them for higher prices in a decade or two.

She told him that. But he was deaf to her reasoning.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 562

She disagreed with him. But she was also the beneficiary of his ignorance. What hurt Norma more was seeing Edna lose through George’s mismanagement of his inherited properties.

Norma alerted Edna to the latest developments, wishing to forestall their sale.

She spoke bluntly, telling Edna that George was acting stupidly, out of prejudice, wasting perfectly good money to rid himself of renters he didn’t like. He was working, slowly, to impoverish his own family by selling off assets that one day might be worth a hell of a lot more money.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 563

Norma recounted her own life struggles, contrasting it with the inherited ease of the Gilmore Family.

“We fled the Communists, we lived in shantytowns, we took in wash, we slept three to a bed, we had no money, we walked everywhere, we picked up discarded cigarettes to smoke them, we shit in a pit in our backyard. Our mother killed chickens while we studied, we saved newspapers and burned them to cook food, we stole oranges for lunch, we drank powdered milk, we had three shirts and two pants, we had one pair of shoes for five years, we fought and suffered and battled for every dollar, we sweated in the heat, and froze in the winter, we got sick and never went to the doctor, when our teeth fell out there was never any to replace them, we washed our clothes with the soap that cleaned our hair and body and we all shared the same bath water.”

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 564

To own inherited property that made money, property gained through birthright, and discard it, was monstrously amoral. Only those who were once poor understood.

To sell out gifts from one’s family would grieve the ancestors and diminish the progeny.

Edna agreed in principle with Norma. But she told

Norma that George had his own way of doing things, and that she never involved herself in his business. And to let it all happen the way George saw fit. Edna was fatalistic. And that, to Norma, was her fatal flaw.

Norma dropped the topic, ending her pleas. The six worst buildings were sold off, one by one. And some time in

1982, the last one went for $325,000. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 565

$1,320,000 worth of properties sold. $66,000 for Norma in commissions.

She thought it both the stupidest and wisest transaction in her short career.

After the Election

Reagan was in, Carter out. George was thrilled.

After the election euphoria, the San Gabriel Valley’s

Republican rainmaker had workaday business: thanking donors, meetings with local leaders, calling in favors, connecting wealthy men to politicians, lobbying Sacramento to reduce taxes. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 566

Everyone in favored positions wanted to befriend

George Gilmore. Those with means thanked him profusely, welcomed him with smiles, besieged him with letters, gifts and phone calls. He was praised by petroleum bosses, auto executives, hunters, yachtsmen, golfers, ranchers, realtors, race car drivers and the fine men who made helicopters, missiles, rockets, and guns.

His politics was their prosperity.

George was a leader. His stroking of strong and powerful man culminated in the euphoric election of Ronald

Reagan.

To mark the change in national temperament, George spent a day in the closet. He removed all wide-lapelled jackets and ties, flared trousers and patterned shirts. He made a trip to Brooks Brothers and bought dozens of rep ties, oxford cloth shirts and sporty trousers. He stopped off at Vroman’s and picked up a copy of “The Official

Preppy Handbook.”

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 567

His sartorial transformation was evidence that his kind were in power now.

Among Republicans, moral talk was in the air, family values to fight unrelated contagions: homosexuality and abortion; stopping the flood of illegal immigrants. The last point was of a particular danger, for these unlawful

Central American migrants were changing the complexion of

Los Angeles: pushing into hospitals, clogging the freeways, darkening the classrooms. George was saddened to see his

America welcome these Americans.

Once Los Angeles had sparkled with nature’s beauty: whitewashed stucco, red geraniums, orange marigolds, donut shaped donut shops.

Now sofas and furniture were dumped on the street.

Crime was rampant, gangs were everywhere.

Illegals.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 568

George resented his taxes paying for city and state services. His money was going to public programs providing health care for undeserving mothers and their children. He and his inherited wealth were besieged. Everything was going downhill under liberalism.

He was also under attack at home. Edna, another liberal, was relentless, unhinged, a threat.

Of course, she had taken down his office door. It was like a stranger had walked up to him on the street and unzipped his fly. His clandestine and confidential records exposed. She took away his door, what would she tear down next?

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 569

Rory. His younger son had inherited mental illness from his wife’s family: bi-polar, suicidal, depressed. For

George the burden of Rory’s condition fell most upon the father. How easily normal life was ruined by a genetic accident of inherited biological traits!

Edna had indulged Rory. She didn’t crack down on his outbursts. She was neglecting her only job, mother. And she did not appreciate how good and easy she had it. She wasn’t satisfied with her comfortable life and two children. Her misery was his. The only means of escape was separation.

Never one for self-reflection, George imagined that he had married Edna in a spirit of generosity, providing her with stable family life and financial security. Had he not put a shaky woman on solid footing? Did he not deserve tremendous love and gratitude? If he left the house, she was still taken care of. He had no guilt.

Without discussion or consultation, he made a quick, terse, hard-headed decision: move out. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 570

At 305 S. Orange Grove Blvd., corner of Arbor Street, a few blocks from home, he saw a for rent sign. He went on a quick tour and signed a lease for a two-bedroom condominium in a garden setting. Here he would be free again.

That afternoon, he took Ed aside, for a walk.

“By giving your mother and I some space it’s a way to keep our family and our marriage together,” he said.

“Not divorcing?” Ed asked.

“No. We have a solid marriage, we just don’t get along. And I can’t live with disruptions, arguments and chaos. Rory is so troublesome. You saw what he did to my office. I can’t operate a business and a life under this uncertainty,” he said.

Thus, Ed learned of his parents’ separation.

George, however, never talked to Rory about the break-up, an omission that wounded the youngest boy, a cold lapse of parenting, cruel and insensitive. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 571

With dry eyes and silent fury, Edna let him go. She told him to empty out his office and take everything: file cabinets, desk, leather sofa, horse prints. She consoled

Rory, she hugged him, she assured him he was not to blame.

“I’ll put some of it into storage. I’ll rent furniture. I don’t need to take along a reminder,” he said, coldly.

They were now split up, yet married, a conceit that allowed their legal arrangement to endure, in a direction that evolved, more truthfully, to reflect autonomy and division.

On a Sunday, movers took down his home office while he packed his suitcase. He walked out alone. And left a family behind.

Now he was the lone man on Orange Grove Avenue, a master of his domain, without meddlesome wife or children.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 572

In his new townhouse he put up thick drapes for privacy to shut out the afternoon sun and block any Peeping

Tom.

He rented bed, dresser, two-night tables, sofa, coffee table, armchairs, dining table. He ordered sheets and towels from the Sears catalog.

The movers brought the big desk with the locked files into the living room. And a leather chair on wheels, gliding on plastic sheet over shag carpet, parking him into position, to sign checks and type letters.

Monday through Friday he left at 8am. He drove out of the garage to work, down the 110, back up at night.

With his neighbors there was no small talk. He never introduced himself. He was like a motel guest. His professional demeanor assured others of his respectability.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 573

Unsupervised, unwatched, on leave from marital duties, he regularly brought back men for sleepovers, a variety of characters found around the city: prostitutes, masseurs, dancers, actors, personal trainers, and restaurant cooks.

He had money, car and freedom for his licentious wanderings: in alleys and parking lots, grocery stores and gas stations, up in the hills; in bars, libraries, banks, and department stores. Everywhere men went, he went. After

8, traffic lessened, he hunted.

Once he had feared a blowjob in a car and the cop’s flashlight in the window. Now he had a townhouse for his guest shots.

He stocked his refrigerator with cold vodka, beer and wine. He bought bags of peanuts to feed tricks in bed. He was reckless, hedonistic, unquenchable; on the prowl, every waking hour. He planned his work around sex.

It was 1981. George Gilmore was having the best time of his life.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 574

Time of Fugues

Vincent rushed home from the hospital. It was late afternoon, around 5. He urgently wanted to talk to his wife and daughter.

But the house was empty. The women were gone. He poured a glass of Scotch. He was agitated. His placidness unsettled.

He sat at the kitchen table and waited for someone to walk in. Tapping his fingers, getting up, sitting down, drinking another one. Dusk turned to evening and still they weren’t back.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 575

Then Norma came home with Lesley who went to use the bathroom. Norma went into the kitchen. She found an unfamiliar man: distressed, perplexed, buzzed.

“We went out for dinner. I thought you would still be at work. Did you eat? What is it? You don’t look right,”

Norma said.

He was red faced, bleary eyed.

“I’ve been sitting here for a couple hours,” he said.

“What?” Norma asked.

She sat down at the table and held out her hand. He grasped hers, looked at her gravely.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 576

“We had a meeting today at the hospital. They called together the entire staff: nurses, doctors, even cleaning people. There was a talk and a slide show. The educated us on something contagious and deadly. Not to be underestimated,” he said.

Lesley walked in, cognizant, sensing tension.

“What did I do now?” she asked.

“Sit down girl. It’s not you. Your father has to tell us something,” Norma said.

Vincent stood as the women sat. He was the authority here. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 577

“I shall speak, not only as a husband and as a father, but as a health care professional. We learned, today, there is a new illness. It is called Acquired Immune Deficiency

Syndrome or the acronym AIDS. It is a fatal disease afflicting many young, mostly homosexual men, in New York,

San Francisco and now, in Los Angeles. They get a fever, or pneumonia, and they can’t fight it off. They lose weight, they develop rashes and lesions on their bodies, they go blind, with no immune defense to fight off sickness and they don’t respond to anti-viral drugs. These young men die in the most horrible and cruel way, drowning in their fluids, or going into sudden cardiac arrest,” he said.

“What? What is the cause of it?” Norma said, hands covering her mouth.

“I will tell you. But I have to give you the blunt, graphic facts,” he said.

“We can handle it. Go ahead,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 578

“Lesley, you are old enough to hear this even though you are still, in my mind, a girl, not a woman. You get

AIDS from sexual intercourse, when one person spreads the virus by way of blood. They think it is not highly contagious the way an airborne virus is. But rather it is injected through bodily fluids, semen, into a vagina or anus through intercourse. And intravenously through drug needles. A man who, pardon this, ejaculates his semen into another man’s anus can spread the disease. The virus is spread through blood. We must undertake every precaution to not get infected. This must now be our new way of life. The world is now more dangerous. And the highest risk is for gay men who have unprotected sex without a condom,” he said.

Norma covered her ears. Lesley was calm, stoic. After

Vincent stopped, Norma spoke.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 579

“Are you done? Have you said everything? Because we can’t hear any more of this! We can’t listen to this disgusting, dirty, sickening thing. And we can’t have

Lesley listening to any more of it. Why do we need to know this? Why are you bringing home such awful tales from the hospital? Do we look like homosexual men? Are we doing what they do in this house? Are you? You have introduced something so repulsive and brought it home and polluted our ears and our souls! Why? What in God’s name can Lesley and

I do about this AIDS catastrophe!” Norma said.

Vincent grew angry.

“I am a doctor. I am responsible for the health of my family, and you better believe I will tell the truth to you, both of you, rather than cover it up and hide it. AIDS will be everywhere in a few months. In a few years the whole world will be afflicted, and we all are going to be changed by it. I pray, we will not die from it. But, surely, we will know someone; a friend, a relative, a loved one; someone who will! Don’t tell me you don’t want to hear about AIDS. You need to know about it to protect yourself,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 580

“No, no, no! This is what happens to those who disobey

God, or go and do unnatural things with their bodies, who have free sex with everyone. This is their punishment.

That’s why we have churches and morals, and rules, about right and wrong. This is what happens when homosexual rights take over and all these unclean, filthy, disgusting, vile gays fuck like animals and then pay the price for their behavior. We are not responsible for their decadence!” she said.

She took Lesley and ushered her out of the side door onto the driveway. Vincent stayed in the kitchen.

On the side pathway Norma turned on a spigot and drank from a garden hose. She spit out the water.

“I want to throw up. I’m sick. Truly nauseated. To have him come home and throw this in our face. And to have you, our child, hear those terms. It’s an abomination,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 581

“Mother calm down. I’m not damaged from hearing it,”

Lesley said.

“Walk down here. I don’t want your father to hear us.

Come down to the curb,” Norma said. She looked around to see that their words were spoken privately.

On the driveway, Norma explained.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 582

“You can’t understand how angry this made me. I do everything I can to keep you pure and guard you. Your father works in a hospital, so he is advising you as a physician, not as a father. You must hear what I say. We are not homosexual. You are not homosexual. You will not get AIDS. You will meet a man one day, marry him, have a family, and live a proper life as a young lady with a husband and children. We came to this country to live in dignity, to obey the law, to respect our family. A homosexual is someone who hates his family, who hates marriage, who hates children, who hates himself and hates even God! That is not who we are. You know someone, and I will not mention his name, who lives a reckless, dangerous, evil life. So above all stay away from him! Don’t go to

Westwood or West Hollywood. That arrogant queen will get sick too. Your father is too compassionate, his heart is too big,” she said.

“I don’t think dad was wrong. He was trying to educate us. To give us information to protect ourselves,” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 583

“No. You don’t need to protect yourself from something you would never, ever do. Do you need to know how gay men fuck? Do you like how that sounds? It should make you sick to hear me say it. Your father spoke words that your innocent ears should not hear. I wish I could record a tape of his words, rewind it and erase it so you were untainted by the sexual dirt, the immoral grotesqueness of his utterances,” Norma said.

Lesley walked away. She went to the curb at the end of the driveway and sat down along the gutter. Norma walked up behind her and stood over.

“What are you doing down there? It’s dirty. Get up,” she said.

“We know people who are homosexuals and some of them are family and friends. What about them? I’m scared for them,” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 584

Norma crouched down, cupping her daughter’s shoulders. “I don’t care to go down there. Please stand up and talk,” she said.

Lesley stood up. But she looked away in a sullen, dismissive way.

“You can light fireworks for excitement but eventually you’ll get burned,” Norma said.

“What?” Lesley asked.

“There are people who live recklessly, only for pleasure. They tempt fate, they spit in the face of God.

Your Uncle Tony is one of them. He says he is looking for love. But he doesn’t have a girlfriend, or a wife. So where is his love? Where is his future? He looks in the mirror.

He goes to the gym. Then he goes to a bar where he drinks or takes drugs. Night after night. And one day he will pay the price. You can’t pull a tooth out of a tiger’s mouth without getting killed,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 585

“But I still love him,” Lesley said.

“You love him because he is family. Stay away from that scum, that jan baan5, bad man. Don’t be soft like your father. Tony already has an incurable illness,” Norma said.

“I’ll make up my own mind,” Lesley said.

Empty, but Fulfilled

George vacated the house and moved up to Orange Grove

Avenue, to set up home and bordello.

For Edna, those days and weeks, after his departure, was liberating, like the end of a long war with many battles, conflicts and casualties, after the enemy has been routed and peace returns.

5 http://www.cantonese.sheik.co.uk/dictionary/words/41604/#jyutpinginfo Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 586

Her release from matrimonial incarceration was a relief. Their union was moot. Both had prolonged a farce now ended.

The withdrawal of George did not ameliorate the turmoil with Rory. The boy was collateral damage, scapegoated by his father and brother, subject to episodes of mania, victimized by errant neurological happenstance.

A juvenile pariah, Rory suffered deep, unmeasurable and unfathomable pain that he could not describe or understand. He only knew that he deserved punishment.

Rory was excluded by his father from visiting. That rule was the foundation of their relationship.

George instructed Ed, only Ed, never Rory, to bike up to Orange Grove several days a week, deliver mail, and take packages and letters to the post office.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 587

He gave Ed a key to the townhouse. But also ordered him to remain in the hall, like a messenger, and to never venture further in. Posted letters were officiously placed on a front hall Parsons table. The rest of the townhouse was private, hidden from view by hinged louver doors.

Ed was now a 14-year-old intern in medium-length feathered hair, parted on the side; button down shirts and

Brooks Brothers khakis, a protégé in property management, just like dad.

He had a fine young man look. But his virtue was a ruse.

Ed, like his father, had a cruel side: vicious, biting, sarcastic, even sadistic. He delighted in directing barbs and mean comments at Rory.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 588

Ed, alone, was entrusted to pick up important papers and interact with the family business. He told that to

Rory. He described George’s townhouse as if it were a faraway destination for invited guests.

“Yeah, Dad’s place is nice. Too bad you can’t go there. I guess Dad is just cautious. I’m capable and mature, especially when he is giving me rent checks to deposit and legal forms to bring to the post office,” Ed said.

“I don’t care. I don’t even know how to deposit a check. I don’t want to go to his place,” Rory said.

“He thinks you’ll destroy things. Like his office.

Remember what you did? He’s being cautious. Can you blame him?” Ed taunted.

“I’m glad he moved out,” Rory said.

“You made it happen,” Ed said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 589

Ed took family events and twisted their origin to blame Rory. And for Rory it was all true. He was the reason his parents broke-up.

Industriousness

222 South Grand Avenue, built in 1912, was nearly 70 years old. And it needed work before they moved in.

Norma and Vincent hired a general contractor. He supervised demolition, installed new electrical and plumbing, put on a new roof, remodeled the kitchen and all seven bathrooms.

Norma listed their home on California Terrace for $800 a month. She would hold onto it. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 590

George’s haste in selling his buildings taught Norma the importance of patience and waiting. Why dispose of a solid asset that makes money?

She still worked long hours selling houses, showing properties, soliciting business, in Monterey Park, Arcadia,

El Monte, Monrovia, Pasadena, Alhambra, San Marino and San

Gabriel.

She was a phone addict. She carried her briefcase, gold Cross pen and legal pad everywhere, stopping at pay phones to return calls, asking restaurants, dry cleaners, and bakeries if she could use their phones. She had no lost pride about going in back with the workers and dialing up.

She never wanted to miss a call. And she checked her answering service every hour, relentlessly following up.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 591

Immigration was in her favor. There was a continuing influx of people from Taiwan and Hong Kong. Many owned restaurants, small businesses and factories. There were also white collared, better educated arrivals who worked as entrepreneurs, attorneys, doctors, dentists, engineers, and accountants.

All who could afford it wanted property. Many of them went to the oldest and most respected broker, Lu Realty, and asked for Norma Loh.

Amidst the whirling, frantic, go-to days of work,

Norma forgot to tell her best friend about the purchase of a new home.

How to break it was the question.

Norma felt acute awkwardness in announcing the move to a grander home uphill.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 592

For all these years they had both lived down the street from each other at the same altitude. Norma, Vincent and Lesley would now ascend above the Gilmore Family.

Norma, cautious, with circumspection and sensitivity, was warily aware of her good fortune as Edna endured breakup, separation, and the burden of Rory. Norma, jubilant and flying high, did not want to smother her besieged friend with ecstatic joy. She planned out how she might gently break the news.

But as she rehearsed her words, she imagined how Edna might react. She overcame reluctance. Her self-admiration mounted a heroic comeback. Too bad for Edna! If she was upset that was not Norma’s fault. Suppressing the good news about Grand Avenue was impossible.

Norma was, at heart, an egoist.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 593

She called Edna from work. It provided an excuse to tell the good news in a hurry.

“Hi dear. I’m pressed for time. Just wanted to let you know. We are moving. We bought a place up the road at 222

South Grand Avenue. It’s a little longer walk but we will still be neighbors. We are very happy with the new home,”

Norma said.

“Wonderful! I’m very delighted for you. Is the new place bigger?” Edna asked.

“Oh, you have no idea! Many bedrooms, many bathrooms, a huge front and backyard, really just the classic American home. Vincent was worried we couldn’t afford it, but I showed him the numbers and he agreed. We are keeping the old house and we’ll rent it. You’ll come over. And we will cook and have a party, drink wine and laugh,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 594

Norma asked about the children. Fine, fine.

And then George. And his own place. Norma asked about

Epsom. “It might be nice to bring your dad back to live with you in Pasadena,” she suggested.

Edna said never. He was too independent and too

Yankee to move in with his daughter.

The women said good-bye. And promised to get together soon.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 595

Edna hung up. That call has irritated her on several levels. She was tired of the implication that she was negligent for “allowing” Epsom to live alone in Boston.

Norma had imported her cultural views. And Edna absorbed a whiff of guilt and shame.

Was it truly right, for you, wealthy and able, to have your old father live out his last years in a walk-up apartment in Beacon Hill? You could put him up in a place nearby, just like your husband.

Epsom, Pasadena. No!

Norma was a Chinese daughter in matters of filial duty. She was right about many things, but not this. Norma was in the most intimate parts of Edna’s life, an unpaid advisor for a little too much. It dawned on Edna that Norma was privy to Gilmore Family finances, the relationships between Edna and George, Edna and Epsom, Edna and Rory.

Vincent and Norma surely talked about Rory too. The inequality of power between them rankled.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 596

Edna sat at the kitchen table. She folded a linen napkin, fashioned it into a two-sided triangle, stood it up, and watched it collapse.

We will cook and have a party, drink wine and laugh.

Another Confrontation, Another Discovery

Ed was making a delivery. He rode his bike out of the garage, carrying a manila envelope up to his father’s place. Then Edna drove up. He stopped. She rolled her window down.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He looked down as he spoke, as if ashamed of his errand. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 597

“Up to dad,” he said.

“I see. Well put your bike down and help me bring the groceries into the house,” she said.

“OK. But he’s expecting me now,” he said.

“I don’t care. You live here. Your next meal is in these bags. Bring them into the house please,” she said.

The electric garage door went up and Rory came out.

“Mom you need help?” he asked.

“Yes. Help your brother,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 598

The boys took the bags out of the car as Edna sat behind the wheel. They went in came out. She pushed the remote control for the garage. The door went down. The boys stood on the driveway, confused.

“Well what are you staring at? Get in, both of you.

Let’s drive up to George,” she said.

Ed left his bike on the driveway and got into the front passenger seat. Rory slid in back.

“Rory can’t go up there,” Ed said.

“I’ll handle that! You’re both his sons! Including

Rory. Don’t ever forget that!” she said.

They drove up Arbor Street and parked under the trees.

The boys absorbed her mood: as dark as the day was sunny.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 599

She and Rory had never been here. They all got out and walked up the path, Ed leading, Edna grave, and defensive, anticipating unpleasantness.

The complex was neat, well-tended, lifelessly natural: the fruit and shade trees, the time clock watered lawn, the six-to-a-pack impatiens planted in a circle, the white stone pebbles and little decorative pathway lights, and the building: olive-green, many balconies, rustic suburban, board and batten wood, little American flags in the soil next to the entrance.

Ed went up first to George’s door. He turned back to his mother as if asking her permission.

“Go ahead. Ring it,” she said.

Ed rang the bell of dongs, a trio of low octave bass sounds, more exclusive than a mere buzzer. Edna and Rory stood behind, out-of-sight, so it would appear that Ed was alone.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 600

George, in gray sweatshirt and red pajama bottoms, opened the door and greeted Ed.

“You’re late,” he said, unaware that there were three visitors, not one.

“Dad, uh, I’m not alone,” Ed said.

“What are you…” George said.

Edna walked into view with Rory.

“Ed was delayed helping his mother and his brother. I hope you don’t mind. I brought your other son. His name is

Rory. He hasn’t been invited here yet,” Edna said.

“I’m in no mood for a ruckus. Come in everyone, Rory come in,” George said.

They went inside, tentatively, into the front hallway.

Ed, unsure, stood with his arms folded, the envelope folded up in his jacket pocket.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 601

He was afraid and anguished, fearful of disloyalty to either side.

Then he took the envelope out and handed it to George who knew not whether to be gracious or dismissive to his family, whether to invite them in, or send them off. Edna took control.

“Aren’t you going to show us your stylish abode?” Edna asked.

“Really there’s nothing to see. Just some rented furniture. That’s it,” George said.

Edna walked past him into the living room.

“Just like your office on Wilshire. A dentist’s office. Very creative,” she said as she inspected.

She opened his bedroom door without stepping in. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 602

Draped over a bed was a black silk negligee: lacy, short, feminine, salacious.

She laughed bitterly.

“Having fun again? Who is the lucky lady? No doubt she’s 25 and hungry for security. Because she’ll never get love,” Edna said.

“Boys go outside. I want to talk with your mother,”

George said. Rory and Ed stepped out.

Her error in mischaracterizing the negligée amused him. She had been thrown off-trail.

“When you invade a man’s privacy you discover things that are none of your business,” he said.

She stared back in disgust.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 603

“You don’t have a scintilla of a heart. I don’t care who you sleep with. What rankles me, what tears me apart is how you treat Rory. What an icy, uncaring man you are. Cold hearted. A sadist in pajamas,” she said.

He clapped his hands. “Wonderful, such poetic descriptions. Just like your father, an unpublished poet,” he said.

“Fuck you! You sicken me. The truth will catch up to you. You’ll pay the price. I pray for the day that happens,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 604

“Go home Edna. Your performance is over. You’ve gotten your applause. Go back to the house I paid for. Go back to your sons waiting outside. Go home Edna. Go back to your custom ranch filled with your yellow Oriental flowered vases. You can sit there alone and contemplate your future with your little Chinese treasures,” he said.

She turned away and walked outside.

“Come on boys, we’ll get some burgers at In-N-Out,” she said loudly.

He shut the door.

They all went back in the car.

“I don’t want to eat,” Ed said.

“Me neither,” Rory said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 605

“I just said In-N-Out so he would hear it and feel left out. Do you understand? Give him a taste of his own medicine,” she said.

They drove the short drive home.

She pulled into the driveway. Ed picked up his bike, opened the garage, and went right into the house.

Edna and Rory stayed back in the car.

“He doesn’t love me at all,” Rory said.

Edna turned around. She looked at Rory in the back seat, so vulnerable.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 606

“I know it seems that way. But he does love you. The problem is he is a very weak man. He gathers strength by attacking others, which includes you and me. A strong man brings people up. A weak one, like George, feeds on the degradation of others. Just remember one thing. Treat other people as you would have them treat you. If you follow that rule you will have a good life,” she said.

“He doesn’t love me because I ruined your marriage.

I’m the reason for all of this,” Rory said.

He slumped down in the seat, crying. Mucus dripped out of his nose. Edna took a tissue. She leaned over the seat into the back and wiped him.

“It’s OK. Let it out. Let it all out,” she said.

“Ed said it was my fault our family broke up. Because of my mental issues,” he said.

“Not true! Not true at all!” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 607

She got out of the car.

She opened the back door and sat in the seat and held him tight, embracing in sorrow and pain, two wounded beings, mother and child.

“I’m your mother. I love you,” she said.

“Why did Ed say that to me. It must be true,” Rory said.

“You had nothing to do with this. It’s between your father and me. Can you feel my heart beating fast? Would it beat so fast if I didn’t love you so much?” she asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 608

September 1983

Edna and the boys went on without George.

Ed was a junior, and Rory in 8th Grade.

She was nearly happy during the interval of calm in the years since George moved out. Rory, now medicated, had less episodes.

Her odd hobby of rubbernecking at fires and car accidents ceased. Vicarious pain no longer amused. Her emptiness was occupied by activities at PAM. Edna spent

Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays as a docent at the USC

Pacific Asia Museum (PAM), a sanctuary of tranquility.

She had marshaled some happiness and was immersed at the museum in elevated, intellectual, artistic distractions. All was delightful there until May 1983 when the museum was robbed.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 609

Thieves stole 171 netsuke, intricate wood carvings from the 18th and 19th Century, smaller than 2”, ornaments worn by Japanese men with their kimonos.

The netsuke were on loan from the Peabody Museum in

Salem, MA. And Edna had been a contact person with the people in Massachusetts, assisting in photographing, numbering and cataloging the items. She felt a particular ownership of the loan, coming from that institution near

Boston, and the loss upset her and unhinged the congenial friendliness of the PAM.

Detectives interviewed employees, including Edna. But the items went missing for good. The museum became a place where bags were searched upon entering and leaving, and

Edna was appalled by the new security cameras which introduced an Orwellian aspect to the institution.

“I almost feel responsible,” she told Ginger. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 610

“You’re always taking the blame for someone else. I guarantee you the thieves were some black kids from

Altadena,” Ginger said.

“How would they pull off an intricate robbery of obscure Japanese wood carvings? Why would they want to?”

Edna asked.

“Who knows. If you’re a criminal you’re in those syndicates,” Ginger said.

Edna was jolted back into reality. The museum was no sanctuary. She needed to calm down. She bought two Fair

Isle sweaters at Talbots and a pair of navy Ferragamo ballet flats.

If something bad could happen at the Pacific Asia

Museum then no place was safe.

Advise and Connive

“I think Rory had one of his episodes. Go check up on her,” Norma told her husband. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 611

“I’ll stop in before work,” Vincent said.

“It would relieve me. Tell her about that specialist at UCLA,” she said.

“Yes. Thank you for reminding me,” he said.

An uxorious husband, he was besotted and blind to her manipulations.

“I know she calls George several times a day and bugs the hell out of him about Rory and medical things. He can’t deal with that and running his business. An ill kid can destroy not only a marriage but also a man’s enterprise,”

Norma said.

“She’s very friendly. I don’t mind stopping in,” he said.

To Edna he was the ideal, like a television doctor.

Ideal, as man, as a husband, as a friend. Calm, handsome, polite, informed, caring.

She called him Marcus Welby.

She opened her front door to the telegenic smiling doctor with broad shoulders, black hair, and tanned face.

“Hi there! How’s everything dear?” he would ask, a kind, affectionate term of endearment. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 612

A loyal ambassador, he was always careful to tell

Edna: “Norma sends her best to you and the boys.”

Vincent did right by all parties.

“These days I only see her on the bus bench,” Edna said.

“She always talks about you. She is critically concerned, especially about Rory. Her heart is always with you even when she isn’t here,” he said.

Vincent’s polite role as mediator and ambassador for his absent wife, and his dispatch of greetings, could not suffice for Norma’s disappearance in Edna’s life.

There had been a chilly and silent break in their once close friendship. Norma had withdrawn. Her lucrative connection was now George.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 613

She was more involved in the Gilmore Family than Edna knew. George continued selling off his “slum” apartments and using Norma as the agent, ridding himself of bad properties in Echo Park, Lincoln Park, Chinatown, Silver

Lake, Highland Park and Eagle Rock.

Property sales worth $3 million dollars were sliced off the Gilmore estate.

George, a wealthy inheritor of properties, thought himself considerably foresighted to exit ethnic Los Angeles areas which he predicted would never come back as long as they were inhabited by non-whites.

The non-white winner was Norma Loh, earning healthy commissions from George as she sold a large portion of his portfolio of marginal buildings near downtown.

Edna could wait. There was always another property closing.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 614

After luring younger, richer buyers now snapping up homes in Arcadia and San Marino, Norma, top agent, quit Lu

Realty.

Norma Loh Realty was born.

Now she had her own company. She was the boss.

Vincent cheered her success. He bolstered her confidence, to undertake any venture, he allowed her freedom through non-interference, he stepped away and gave her autonomy. He believed in her. In return, he thought she would love him fully.

He didn’t recognize her coolness when she turned her face away. He didn’t think she was unfeeling when she took her hand out of his; or turned over in bed, her back to his face, tugging blanket to guard against kisses. He pursued her more vigorously, misconstruing her indifference as a type of flirtation obstacle.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 615

He tried to appease. He brought home pink roses, he gave her a bottle of Charlie. He picked his wet towels up off the bathroom floor, stacked his shoes along the wall in the hall, cleaned prawn cracker crumbs off the counter. He was lover, provider, housekeeper. All to gain her approval.

She noticed. But his servility weakened his sex appeal, enfeebled his manliness. She impregnated him with vulnerability and weakness. He was obsequious. And she rejected his overtures for intimacy.

He didn’t give up. He thought: I’m not being thoughtful enough. He tried to recall what he did so long ago that delighted her, and wondered if he changed, not she.

With age, one becomes more assured that misperception is intuition, perception fact.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 616

Through a valley of nostalgia and daydreams Vincent wandered and walked, wistful and longful, venturing to recapture halcyon youth, their glorious courtship. He set out to reach a destination but never arrived.

Many nights he rode a train that went to an airport to a plane that took off before he boarded and then; out of the dream, he woke up, in reality, alone in bed, after she left the house, before he could kiss her good-bye.

One morning, she came out of the shower, towel headed, face and neck glistening, in wetness; water droplets, down her neck, into the hollow, between her breasts. She went into the bedroom before he put his underwear on and he was aroused. He moved to embrace her. She pushed him away, deliberately, unmistakably, and hurtfully.

“We aren’t 16. You aren’t holding me on the boat to

Lantau Island. You aren’t a schoolboy! You’re a 45-year-old man!” she said.

He was stricken. He moved back. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 617

“That’s it. You spoke it. I thought you were angry.

Now I know. Go to work. I’ll go to work. We’ll come home.

And no more husband and wife. Just friends,” he said.

She walked back into the bathroom, door half open.

“I hear you. I’m sure your daughter can too,” she said drawing her lips in mauve.

Now he was dressed in his pressed blue shirt, tan worsteds, black lace ups.

“Talk, talk, talk. Just talk. That’s what you do. Sell bullshit, sell houses, sell me out. I’m not listening,” he said.

He went down to the kitchen. He knocked around utensils, pushed a glass into the porcelain sink and broke it. He picked up the glass and cut his finger and threw the pieces into the garbage. He turned the hot faucet on, scalding. He washed his hands. Hard, until they were red, scrubbing them with the rough side of a sponge, blood spurted out of a finger. He wrapped that in paper towel, no pain just silent rage. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 618

Some minutes transpired. And then she came in black and white, suit and heels.

“I thought you left,” she said.

“You rotten mouth, chi sin, crazy lady, bitch. We have a beautiful home, money, health. What’s eating you lady?” Vincent asked.

“I just can’t be touched,” Norma said.

He got up into her face, jamming his bloodied, paper wrapped finger at her.

“Once I was so crazy for you. I borrowed a car, got beers, cigarettes, and condoms. And we drove to a dark, dead end street, Ho Man Tin. Surely you remember Ho Man

Tin? We couldn’t stop our love making! Insatiable. Both of us!” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 619

“Yell it to the world. Tell our filthy secrets to everyone. Lesley will hear it all,” she said.

“When you went to school at Maryknoll, I waited for you downstairs, every single day, in LaSalle school tie.

Dressed to impress. We were respectable to everyone. But we were wild cats at night! It’s not filth, you damn fucking spiteful woman. It’s the story of love! Love between a man and a woman, then a husband and wife, always the two of us!” he said.

“You in your Elvis haircut, plastered in pomade.

Lighting firecrackers, dancing and drinking and smoking and running wild in Diamond Hill. We fucked all the time. We loved to fuck. There! I said the word! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Do you like the sound of it? Are you happy now?” she said.

“You say the word but you can’t do it!” he screamed. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 620

“I’m so tired. I work so hard. I spend every minute on the phone, on my feet, driving to properties, smiling and pretending,” she said.

“If we went back to 1957, 17 years old, on the

Waterloo Bus, would we fall in love again?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“You used to talk about your bitter mother and father who never spoke, vowing you would never,” he said.

She stared, glazed, exhausted. And said nothing. She took her handbag off the chair.

“Are you leaving now?” he asked.

“I should,” she said.

“Then go,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 621

That Old Feeling

Gone for good, that old feeling.

In that George Gilmore library, Edna surveyed a space wiped clean of its former occupant. In that dark paneled room, gone were that locked wood door, and that locked wood desk, the officious and industrial file cabinets, the horse prints, and the aroma of hostility.

Now she had room to work.

The last items to leave were the books. She packed them into the garage by the boxful. They had originally been purchased by the hundreds, for appearance only, and were never valued, never opened, never read. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 622

They had elucidating tomes, on sleep inducing subjects: Greek and Roman Sculpture in American

Collections; God's Englishman: Oliver Cromwell and the

English Revolution; The Oxford History of English

Literature Series, Six Volumes; American Jurisprudence,

1870-1970: A History; and The Birth, Life and Acts of King

Arthur, a 12 Volume Set.

They departed as they had arrived: en masse and unmissed, their contents hidden, their words unseen, their stories unknown, their knowledge unharvested. Now the titles traveled to Glendale to stay with used bookstores on

Brand Boulevard.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 623

Once, peculiarly, George said that he hated writers, echoing Gore Vidal who preferred actors. Perhaps, Edna imagined, it was because George’s own scriptwriting career was stalled and self-aborted. And the success of others a reminder of his own failure.

In place of the old, somber, dark library of unopened books, Edna imagined a gay, vibrant, feminine room of flowers, colors, bright furniture and Chinese antiques with very few books. She had collected pottery, art, and fabrics for years, and now she had the time and the room, to configure and decorate a salon of chinoiserie.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 624

She hired painters to transform dark wood paneling with yellow paint. She chose Beacon Hill by Benjamin Moore, a hue of desaturated corn, ancestral, familial, traditional, redolent of New England.

She acquired decorative lamps and opulent objects: pillows, rugs, tables, cabinets, drapes, and paintings.

Her upholstered pieces were in brilliant hues of deep red, bright orange, cobalt blue and jade green. Colors

Definitive, strong, and alive, a bright rebuttal yelling back at her husband’s beige and wood stained office, a lifeless zone, benumbing, secretive and morose.

She invested in a substantial $3,700 gold steel,

étagère shelf, seven feet tall and four feet wide. She filled it with alabaster bowls, brass bronzes, and dozens of Chinese cloisonné vases decorated with peacocks, peonies, dragons, serpents, butterflies, bees, and fireflies. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 625

There were two cane-back barrel chairs, spray painted in cerulean green and upholstered in sky blue pagoda

Chinois toile. They were arranged around a large, square, ivory colored coffee table painted with Chinese hunters on horses trapping a lion.

A seven-foot-wide, mustard-colored, velvet sofa, in bullion fringe, hosted Schumacher upholstered pillows in

Chiang Mai Dragon design.

Above that sofa was a Qing Dynasty mural depicting

Empress Xiaoxianchun (1712-1748), consort of Emperor

Qianlong of Qing. She was depicted in an embroidered gown with wings, yards of jewels and a royal crown. The 18th

Century Empress lorded over as if this room was in her own palace.

The female portrait was a subversive statement by

Edna, fraught with aesthetic, political and emotional meaning, a family dynasty once headed by a female, was once again.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 626

On some nights she burned ruby Rigaud candles that threw off scents of jasmine, cedar and white musk. The perfumed room was seductive and dramatic, lit by five 18th

Century, British tea canister lamps in deep reds and dark greens, painted with Chinese peasant farmers and harvester lanterns.

Edna was pleased with the progress of the new room, proud of it, her accomplishment. It was full of every element she had intended to buy. It lacked only one man and one woman in love.

After the room was completed her self-doubt crept back in. She had a sense that what she had created was not really hers to create. She had borrowed decorative concepts and transcribed them. Her historical room was someone else’s history. She had a gnawing ache of inauthenticity which verdant luxury could not dispel.

If she were an expert, a scholar, or a devoted reader of Chinese culture she could inoculate herself by feigning a deep understanding. But truthfully, she realized she would probably flunk a test on the historical origins of the room’s antiques. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 627

Like the classical books in George’s library, the collectible items in Edna’s room were theater, meant to bestow authenticity, items valued for what they signified, not for what they were, for their owners had never bothered to look beneath their surfaces.

But what a fantasy at first sight. It gave color and comfort to her life in Pasadena. It filled her with love.

It held her in a dream, a reverie in lush surroundings.

And the room was also a rebellion, an act of protest, to rid it of King George. And that was accomplished.

Edna asked Rory if he would like to be the guardian of the new room, the room he had once been forbidden to enter.

“Yes. I’d be honored,” Rory said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 628

“We can call it the Chinese Room. It will never again be George’s office or your father’s room, or Dad’s office,

Dad’s library, or whatever ugly mark of ownership he stamped upon it. Let the news be spread, the George Gilmore room, at last, is dead. Hail to the Chinese Room,” she said.

Sitting in the Chinese Room with Rory brought Edna happiness. And joy, into a home, that had, until now, very little of it.

The Visit

Ed and Rory ate Rice Krispies with bananas and milk.

It was 7:30 on a Sunday morning.

“Aunt Norma is coming by. Finish up and take your plates to the dishwasher. And go make your beds,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 629

“Is she inspecting our rooms too?” Ed asked.

“Not in the mood,” Edna said.

“She’s not an aunt,” Rory said.

“Stupid idiot. That’s what we call her,” Ed said.

“Please don’t use that tone with your brother. I need you boys to clean up. Put on your Lord and Taylor crew neck sweaters,” she instructed.

“She hasn’t come here forever,” Rory said.

“She’s an employee of Dad’s,” Ed said.

“Not true!” Rory said, rushing up to the sink with his bowl.

“She works with your father. Don’t open your mouth about anything to do with him. Just say hello to her and go outside,” Edna said.

“Her daughter is a tomboy,” Rory said, stacking his bowl into the dishwasher, dripping milk onto the floor.

“Watch the floor!” Edna said.

Rory grabbed a paper towel and mopped up.

“She’s a bull dyke. She probably pees standing up,” Ed said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 630

“Enough! Shut-up. Get ready!” Edna said.

Their banter made her tense.

Rory walked out of the kitchen. He returned holding a record album. He held up the cover: a pretty, young Chinese woman in pearls.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“When Norma walks into the Chinese Room for the first time I want Theresa Tang to play. Maybe I’ll give it to her. Or maybe I’ll keep it as aural decoration,” Edna said.

“I’m taking off a bike ride. I won’t be around when she gets here,” Ed said.

The guest and the hostess stood in the front doorway.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 631

Norma came before work, authoritative and crisp, composed in affluence, besuited in Adolfo’s black and white houndstooth. She wore black pumps and tinted hose. She carried a small, quilted, chain strap black leather purse and wore 14k white gold diamond triangle earrings. Her hair was short and spiky. She smelled strongly of gardenias and carnations.

Edna regarded her best friend stunningly.

They kissed. Norma came out of her shoes. She stepped into the hall. They held hands. They gazed at one another, like long lost lovers, reunited.

Morning Edna, no makeup, in t-shirt, jeans and baby- blue fur slippers held onto Norma.

“You can’t stay away again so long,” Edna said.

“I know. I’m all work. I’m sorry,” Norma said.

They walked. And Norma looked around the hall and beyond, into the living room, surveying, estimating.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 632

“Give me the go-ahead to put this house on the market.

I’ll sell this in a few days, with multiple offers higher than your asking price,” Norma said.

“I hate to disappoint you. I’m happy here. Now that he’s gone,” Edna said.

“What is the surprise you brought me here for?” Norma asked.

“Close your eyes. And I will hold your hand. And escort you into the new room,” Edna said.

“Excitement,” Norma said, shutting her eyes.

“Wait here,” Edna said. She tip-toed across the

Chinese Room and lit sandalwood incense. Then she placed a needle on the record player. Teresa Tang sang Du Shang Xi

Liu.

“Ok. Open your eyes,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 633

Norma looked out into a reborn room seen for the very first time.

The dark, generic, exhausted gloom of the man’s work study was banished, reborn in corn cob yellow womanly glory. The wood paneled walls were like a field of forsythia. The French doors were open to the garden, roses, lavender and northern light. The five dim lamps were on.

There were multi-colored floral pillows, bamboo chairs and the Consorts of Qianlong etching hanging over the fringed sofa. And glass shelves, stacked full of many-colored porcelain vases and bowls lit by spotlights.

“Gorgeous. You are supreme. You should be making a lot of money as a decorator,” Norma said.

“The sofa alone was nearly 10 grand,” Edna said.

“You chose to put your work and energies into this project. Look at the result. It’s magnificent, stupendous, luxurious. It transports me home,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 634

“Have I made it real?” Edna asked.

“It’s unreal,” Norma said.

“Unreal?” Edna asked.

“It’s a world you’ve invented,” Norma said.

“Like Hollywood?” Edna asked.

“An authentically make-believe Chinese Room in

Hollywood,” Norma said.

Edna, white and well-meaning, a neophyte decorator, bewitched by The Orient, had meant this room as an offering, a gift, a passion project produced with the best of intentions. She hung onto her friend’s reaction, observing her face, absorbing her comments. The few months old room would live or die on Norma’s love and approval.

“I can’t watch you looking at it anymore. Tell me what you think,” Edna said.

“I told you. Do I need to tell you more?” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 635

Norma thought it achingly imitative, exaggerated, childlike, theatrical, satirical, a synthetic assembly of

Asiana. Aesthetically, it was over the top. Financially, it was excessive.

If, on the outskirts of Shanghai, a rich Han Chinese peasant, a lottery winner, who had never been to America, built a studio lot production with cowboys, horses, covered wagons, wooden planks, saloon, barbershop and hitching post it might feel like this to a Wyoming rancher.

It conflicted Norma. She could not accept it or reject her friend’s Chinese Room.

Edna looked at Norma’s face for an opening; a hint, a recognition.

But her face was diplomatic. Her lips were pursed, her arms folded. She was not ecstatic, she was amorphous. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 636

Edna saw no emotion in Norma.

That Sunday morning, she had hoped for a catharsis brought on by the Chinese Room. She sought a restoration of their bond, believing that the room would instigate a happy reunion of hearts.

But sarcasm and dollar-filled advice poured out.

“This room is so bright, so cheerful, so nearly, verily Chinese. You are quite talented. Perhaps you should work as a home stager. I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s a lot of work. Pays well,” Norma said.

Edna was deflated and confused.

Edna wanted more tears, hugs, and love. She wanted to hear how Norma loved her, how the new room brought them both closer, how the room was a story spoken by Edna in comprehension of who Norma was. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 637

But to Norma the room was all about Edna. The furtive messaging in the ornate décor was lost in translation.

“I’m finally rid of a hideous dark room of secrets. Do you like it? Have I succeeded?” Edna asked.

“I can’t tell you how I truly feel,” Norma said.

“Because you don’t know or won’t tell?” Edna asked.

“I don’t know this room. Or where it came from or who it’s meant for. I see every glorious object and color. But it doesn’t speak to me in my language," Norma said.

Edna didn’t understand. Her Chinese Room was a poem of meaning, sentiment and affection. She grasped for words to beg for acceptance.

"I wanted this room to be full of romance, passion, and love. To envelop with seduction and grace. I wanted my guests, especially you, to be transported to another place, to live in a kind of Mandarin dream. I had so much fun bringing it together. I thought you would love it, beyond love," Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 638

Norma picked up a white bowl and read the words on the bottom of the vessel:

深情是永远的

“Affection is forever,” Norma said.

“I needed to clean out this space, renew it, purify it, make it happy,” Edna said.

She offered a justification for the room. It was almost an apology. It seemed weak, moralistic, psychiatric, pseudo.

“I thought maybe you made this room to send me a message,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 639

“Is that wrong? I’m just trying to keep you as a friend. I will never be able to do what you do, to be a great success, to have your name on bus benches, to sell homes, and transact business with my husband. You are stronger than me,” Edna said.

“I’m not strong. I just take truth over fantasy,”

Norma said.

“And I don’t?” Edna asked.

Norma walked around the room, caressing the sofa, touching her fingers along a silk lampshade, leaning into breathe sandalwood smoke.

“This is a fantasy of a place you’ve never been. You should have seen the Hong Kong I came from. It didn’t look like this,” Norma said.

“Can’t I create a Chinese fantasy room? Who says I can’t?” Edna asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 640

“Nobody. You have the funds. Which paid for the room.

Some who had great wealth would apply themselves to learning how to manage it, or how it is created. You are a property owner, through your husband, yet I would bet you’ve never looked at rent roll, never examined a tax return, never asked how much money comes in every month from your buildings, and if those buildings are going up or down in value. But you enjoy it all. So, you have my congratulations,” Norma said.

“I brought you here as a friend, not a judge. Why are you condemning me?” Edna asked.

“I’m not condemning you. I envy you. You can play alone. You can spend money lavishly and surround yourself in a dollhouse. You are very lucky. Born lucky I say,”

Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 641

“Why am I lucky? Do you think my life is enviable?”

Edna asked.

“You have privilege. You have a lot of things bestowed upon you which you are unaware of,” Norma said.

Edna had no defense for she had anticipated no attack.

“May I use your phone? I have to call my answering service. So busy! Work never stops.” Norma said.

Edna walked out of the room and stood in the hall within listening distance.

“Get the inspection done by Tuesday. I can’t wait any longer. The inspector loves the Dodgers. Get him two box seats. Kiss his fucking ass,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 642

Edna waited, listened and wondered.

“The sellers at 1161 Virginia Road need their grass cut. Apologize to Cindy Wang. I’ll be in around 10:30. See you then. Bye,” Norma said.

Edna looked into the study.

“You can come back in. It’s your home,” Norma said.

Edna sat down in a green bamboo chair. Her look was plaintive.

“How is Lesley?” she asked.

“Rather an indifferent student. Quite fat and rebellious, smart mouthed, too. I have an American kid. And

I don’t like it,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 643

“And Vincent? I’m sure fine. You are lucky to have him,” Edna said.

“Lucky? You are lucky. You have the husband without the responsibility of looking after him. He earns a good living. You have your boys. You can play alone. You can spend money lavishly and build a little dollhouse. You are very lucky. Born lucky I say,” Norma said.

Her hostility, latent before, was now open and burning.

“It’s a wonderful thing to be left alone, to be untouched, to not have a man breathing down your neck, grabbing you, demanding affection.” Norma said.

“I would love to have your fine man breathe down my neck,” Edna said.

That lascivious comment did not please Norma. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 644

She stood up. She walked around the room, inspecting, triggering.

“How did you come to make all things yours?” Norma asked.

“What do you mean?” Edna asked.

“Being Chinese is not a hobby. It’s who I am. It can’t be purchased,” Norma said.

Edna got up from her chair.

“I am not pretending to be Chinese. I’m a white

American woman. You think I don’t know that? If I want to make a room out of a fantasy that’s my right,” Edna answered.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 645

“I don’t mean to indict you. I just am taken by surprise how you bought and own a piece of the story from my heritage. You don’t speak or understand Mandarin, or

Cantonese, you don’t have my traditions, my upbringing, you never walked on Chinese soil. You are a just a white girl from Boston,” Norma said.

“Just a white girl from Boston? You come into my home and denigrate me? This room set you off. Are you put in great misery seeing it? Get a life,” Edna said.

“That’s not what I meant,” Norma said.

“That’s what you’ve said. You have unleashed a verbal attack on me since you got here. Lucky this, lucky that.

Just floating through life,” Edna answered.

“I’m just pointing out facts. You steal my culture to decorate your home,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 646

“Bullshit. Hypocrite. You came here, and you became a citizen. And you live in a fine colonial home, and you drive a Cadillac, and you celebrate the Fourth of July, put up a Christmas tree, go to Dodger games, speak English, wear a cross around your neck, worship Ronald Reagan and his church, the Republican Party. You wave the flag, cry for lower taxes and love any tax dollars spent on war and prisons. And you even learned how to hate black people.

Congratulations on becoming an All-American! You’ve stolen my culture, but you can have it. It costs too much in lost lives and wasted money,” Edna said.

“I work my ass off! Don’t you dare label me,” Norma answered.

“Aren’t you just as much a borrower of other cultures, other places, other traditions as I am? Are you protecting your culture? Or do you just want to humiliate me?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 647

“I’m astonished. You are really a cold woman. You don’t know how lucky you are. To come from so much privilege. And squander it,” Norma said.

“What have I squandered?” Edna said.

“You know. I won’t tell you!” Norma said.

“C’mon on. Don’t hold back. Do you think your tight lips don’t speak?” Edna said.

“You let your husband go. Because you couldn’t satisfy him. You are very selfish. You’ve let your father rot alone in a little apartment in Boston,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 648

“My father is a New Englander, which means nothing to you! But the best of it stands for independence, self- reliance, and eccentricity. Being an individual, not burdening your family, taking the road less taken. Epsom is a true Yankee who takes pride in taking care of himself, thinking for himself, and he would not have it any other way,” Edna said.

“A real daughter takes care of her aged father. In her own home!” Norma screamed.

“He would rather walk on the icy streets, fight the winter, and cook his own meals until he is in his deathbed!” Edna said.

“He’ll die faster without your help,” Norma said.

“You’ve said enough. Get out already. Go,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 649

“I appreciate your hospitality. And do give your best to the boys and George,” Norma said.

She flew out the front door.

“That fucking woman,” Edna screamed aloud to an empty hallway.

Rory came in. “Why are you yelling?” he asked.

“That,” Edna said pointing out the window to Norma walking down the path.

“Fight?” he asked.

“Your mother got burnt again. I don’t know what happened. I really don’t,” she said.

“She is a bitch, right?” he asked.

“I don’t countenance that language but if you wish to describe her that way you have my permission,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 650

That made him laugh. Edna laughed too. They walked into the room where the battle just ended.

“The Chinese Room is cursed,” Edna said.

She retired the room to darkness. She pulled the curtains closed. She turned off the lamps. She pushed the chairs back into place, fluffed up the pillows, and doused a candle.

“Have you eaten? C’mon let me fix you something,” Edna said.

The Nihilist’s Hour

After the fight, the break-up, the walk-out, whatever it was, that exploded that day, Edna was weakened and enervated.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 651

She replayed the meeting, and remembered her childish excitement and feverish suspense, waiting for Norma’s reaction to the Chinese Room.

She thought Norma would come closer after she saw its beauty, imagining that its Orientalism would foster love, devotion and undying loyalty. And rekindle their relationship.

Hugs, tears, kisses, and praise. It was all going to pour out of Norma. She would exclaim how dazzling the

Chinese Room was, how exquisite, a great tribute of artistry and love.

Norma would devour it. And Norma the savior, might even hire Edna to decorate her home, or perhaps the homes of clients. And the Chinese Room would catapult Edna, launch her, unexpectedly but delightedly, into Pasadena interior design. Norma would introduce Edna to other wealthy clients. The imagined room and its imaginary promise became an existential miracle cure for Edna’s defeatism and nihilism. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 652

Great was the power and promise of the glorious room, so great.

Until it drove them apart.

The fight was a betrayal. It was cruel, unnecessary, and came out of nowhere. Everything was looking up, and then it came crashing down.

She hated herself for falling apart. Now returned that Boston mood, a barometric drop, ill winds, an impending storm, fatigue, sadness, confusion and wonder at the origin of this argument and war.

All she wanted now was sleep.

Mid-afternoon, the boys still in school, she lay in bed under the blanket covers, shivering. No appetite.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 653

Her stomach was empty, her mind full of morbidity. She slept and dreamt of Rebecca, another loss, another betrayal, leaving her in the ruins of bereavement. Again.

“You bought and own a piece of the story from my heritage. You don’t speak or understand Mandarin, or

Cantonese, you don’t have my traditions, my upbringing, you never walked on Chinese soil. You are a just a white girl from Boston!” Norma said.

Like an imposter, a thief, a phony. Décor under false pretenses. Trivial and petty. The substance of the fight.

But inarguable was the fact that the Chinese Room had power over Edna and Norma, it decreed significance in its forms and artifacts, crafts and codes.

Edna had borrowed something mesmerizing and occult in birthing the Chinese Room. She was, perhaps, correct in her intuition that the room would provoke strong emotion. It just was not the emotion she had hoped for.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 654

Before the blow-up, Edna had endowed Norma with such moral solidity and dependability, often beyond what Norma demonstrated; because Norma was Chinese, and those Chinese were the best friends you could have because they were like family, because in China family was all that mattered.

White friends, white family, easy come, easy go.

But a friend from China was a friend forever.

Edna had bestowed godly characteristics onto Norma.

The room was an offering to a goddess who had rejected the gift.

Edna’s prejudices in favor of Norma’s saintliness were immutable. And then they were proved false.

Now it was all over.

The nihilist’s hour had arrived.

It was that time where nothing mattered and no word reassured.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 655

Gift of the Bauhinia

A few days later she hobbled out of bed.

She put on her old flat-soled navy sneakers from the sixties, gray sweatpants, gray sweatshirt, and went outside to the front lawn. The morning was pathetic, unpromising.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 656

The air was moist, fog sat in the canyon and around the neighborhood, entwining and evaporating nature. It was that time after sunrise and before the sunshine, cool and moody, thoughtful and subdued.

This was her first outing in a few days after the fight. She pulled out some will to get up again and walk, and she said walk, aloud; and she obeyed and went along.

She crossed the street and descended into the arroyo where the trees and the paths burrowed along the concrete trench of the dry creek, El Arroyo Seco.

She walked on the dirt path, in the direction of the

Colorado Street Bridge, and its looming, ominous arches; a bridge of evil grandeur, beckoning suicidal people like a sweetly, deadly plant whose scent lures insects to devour and consume.

She passed two teenage boys smoking in the park near a dried-up oleander bush.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 657

She felt light-headed, but the stroll was nice. She passed under the bridge, past the murky sewage water. She stopped there, turned around and retraced her steps out.

A few yards ahead the oleander bush was afire, the smokers gone.

The flames were low, under the bottom of the bush, ignited in the dry leaves below, now the oleander was enflamed, then a conflagration of smoke and flame.

She looked around for help, for anyone, and she screamed.

“Oh God. God please. Someone help!”

The bush was now fully engulfed and ablaze. The fire jumped to a eucalyptus and brush around it. Along ten or more feet of the slope, its dry grasses and shrubs burned. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 658

Two men in warm up suits, men who looked like bankers or lawyers, came up the trail, running to the fire, followed by two gray haired women on bikes with flowered baskets. The men tried to kick dirt on the hill. One of the bicyclists sprinkled water from her bottle of iced tea. The fire spread and the spectators moved back.

“I’ll call the fire department. My house is just across the street,” Edna said.

She ran along the trail, back to S. Arroyo Blvd, and she darted across the street, into the house to call in the fire. She went in, dialed 9-1-1.

Inside all was calm. The children were in school. And outside the air was still clean, no smoke, no smell, nothing. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 659

She waited. She drank water. She splashed her face.

And then she heard the sirens. She turned the kitchen radio to KNX 1070, as she always did in times of peril, after tremors, fires and accidents, the vicarious citizen, alert to danger.

The emergency made her hungry.

She opened a jar of peanut butter and unwrapped some

Ritz Crackers. She took out a knife and spread some peanut butter on a cracker. And then she unpeeled a banana, sliced it, and lobbed it on several crackers.

She poured a tall glass of whole milk. She ate and drank, standing at the sink, until she was full. Her appetite had returned.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 660

That night there were burgers, chopped onions in butter, fried in cast iron. Edna served them open-faced on pan seared white bread with ketchup and Dijon mustard, mashed potatoes and steamed carrots.

She and the boys ate together. They talked about the fire. And her fight with Norma. They were sensitive that night. And diligently they cleared the table, stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, regarding with care their wounded mother.

After a healthy dinner with well-behaved kids her self-doubt had taken a night off.

It was night by then, around seven, dark outside.

There was a knock at the side door, near the garage. She went to look.

Dr. Yue stood out there in the orange light. She opened the door.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 661

“Vincent. What a surprise,” she said.

“Sorry to just pop in. I was driving home from work and thought I’d stop by if you weren’t busy. Am I disturbing?” he asked.

“You? Never. Please come in. It’s always a joy to see you,” she said.

“You’re sure?” he asked again.

“Come in. We just finished dinner. The boys are in their rooms studying. I was just about to do nothing,” she said.

He came in, untied his shoes, took them off. And handed her a plastic wrapped small sapling.

“A gift,” he said.

She laid it down on the kitchen table. A baby tree, small and delicate, branches bare.

“That is very kind of you. What is this about?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 662

“It’s from me and Norma. It is called a Bauhinia. They are beloved in Hong Kong. Plant this. And perhaps, in a year or two, it will bloom with gorgeous magenta blossoms.

A hundred years ago a missionary brought these to Hong Kong and propagated them. I’m offering this as a gesture. An apology,” he said.

“What? You haven’t done anything wrong!” Edna said.

His face was quiet. He looked down, slightly embarrassed, ashamed.

“Why are you apologizing?” she asked.

“I think you know why. Please accept this. And allow me to make amends. You and I have never had anything less than a cordial, warm, friendship of mutuality and admiration,” he said.

Was he here on his own mission? Or directed here by his wife?

They stood tentatively, awkwardly at the kitchen table.

“Did you tell Norma about this?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 663

“Can’t I do anything without asking permission?” he said.

“Of course. I was just asking,” Edna said.

“She doesn’t know. This gift of the Bauhinia is from both of us, but only one of us initiated the gift. If that makes sense,” he said.

“We had some harsh, ugly words. I expected to never hear from her again,” Edna said.

He smiled, acknowledging.

“Norma loses her temper quickly. But she doesn’t mean it. She’s the startling crackle of thunder in the sky on a sunny afternoon, the thunderclap that only explodes one time, moves on, and is forgotten,” he said.

His meteorological analogy for his wife was precise and illogical. Yet its poetry brought Edna into empathy.

She kissed him, sweetly and lightly, on his jaw, caressing his face with her hand, a melancholy, jasmine- hearted gesture, dabbed in Mitsouko.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 664

“Where is this beautiful room I’ve heard about? My wife could not stop praising it,” he said.

She was surprised and flattered.

“The international incident room? You want to go in there? OK.” Edna said.

They walked through the hall into the Chinese Room.

She turned on the green and red tea lamps illuminating the yellow paneled walls. She switched on a cabinet light to show off all the exquisite antique jars, vases, plates on glass shelves.

She opened the French doors to the garden and the fountain, and its calming, rushing sounds.

At the water’s edge, a blue gray feathered Kingfisher; sharp, jutting black beak, spiked head like a greaser, dabs of orange underside; sat on the ledge and flew away. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 665

Vincent toured like a scholar. He marveled at the décor, he looked at the details of the bowls, the plates, and the statues. He picked up and examined an amber glass bubble paperweight that sat on the coffee table.

“This is dazzling. You are very talented. I was only in here once before when it was George’s office. It was so manly and serious. Now you’ve energized it. You’ve made it womanly, meaningful, rich, and historic. And somehow, these old relics are entirely new, young and American. They are artful, eclectic and individual. You adopted them, gave them a home, and have done it with love, imagination and passion,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 666

“Thank you. Your compliments touch me. Let me fix some celebratory drinks,” she said. She went out of the room to get liquor.

He remained alone, and he walked, reverently, hands behind his back, up to the sofa, to regard the golden septet Consorts of Qianlong.

Edna returned with two iced scotches and handed him one.

They toasted and sat down on the sofa under the mural.

It was strange, gratifying and wondrous to meet at the site of the skirmish with Norma’s emissary. He brought healing.

“I wasn’t ready to write you off. But what the hell happened here?” Edna asked.

“I don’t think it’s anything serious. But you were knocked over by it,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 667

“I couldn’t stop thinking: what have I done wrong? I stopped eating. I wanted to sleep all day, and then I couldn’t sleep. She was so cruel,” she said.

“Again. I apologize. I wish she could say she was sorry, but Norma never will. She explodes and then she moves on as if it nothing happened,” he said.

“For the last few nights I’ve had nightmares. I dreamt about tornadoes. And Boston. In one dream there was a fire at my father’s home. I lost him. Then I woke up, for real, to the loss of my best friend. The blues were all around me. Do you know what that’s called? Is there a medical name for it?” she said.

“Anxiety,” he said.

“I thought this was the end of me and Norma,” she said.

“You love her. She loves you. Take my word,” he said.

He smiled. And put down his drink on top of a blue agate coaster, rimmed in gold, that had just magically appeared on the coffee table. Edna had slipped it under to protect the furniture. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 668

“But you ate better today? And you got some air and exercise? If you eat and sleep and walk a bit, you are recuperating. The incident with my wife will resolve itself. I know. From experience,” he said, pushing along, hoping to terminate the discussion.

“I thought I had lost my friendship, a certification of trust. I was unsure what I had done. I don’t want to offend,”

Edna said.

He was now getting a bit tired of hearing about it.

He got more direct and forthright in his advice.

“You will offend her again. As surely as the seasons come and go, Norma will take umbrage. She is suspicious of sweetness, distrusting of niceness. She can be an alley cat.

You make nice she scratches. I love her, but she has carried these traits with her since we met,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 669

“Why is she like that? You are such a wonderful husband,”

Edna asked.

He took a sip from his scotch.

“I am naturally, by tendency, sentimental, tender, devoted, caring. I have these traits in medicine. I have them as a husband, and I hope as a father. I’m logical, I think, modestly, reasonable. But I also want to hug my wife. I want her to cry in her arms. And I want to make love to her with all my heart. And sometimes she is there, and other times I am shut out. Like you were,” he said.

The doctor’s confessions were remarkably candid. He cited them factually, objectively, as if he were reading from a medical journal.

Why now, Edna wondered, was he so unguarded on matters so personal? Whatever happened between her and Norma was now soothed and remedied by his entreaty.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 670

To explain her, he spoke of his interpretation of the

Cantonese, and by implication, his wife.

“In Hong Kong nobody is really sure of their status. My family came from Chaozhou in Guangdong. They spoke a dialect, Teochew. We were strangers when we came to Hong

Kong. And the Cantonese, people like Norma’s parents, looked down on us. The English speakers never looked at us at all. We were poor peasants really. We lived in the slums of Kowloon,” he said.

“On Christmas Day, 1953, our whole area, Shek Kip Mei, caught fire, hundreds fled, their homes destroyed. Many killed and homeless. We had a rice shop, it was behind a butcher shop, they rented to us for 25 dollars a month. It burned up too. We got charred wood to build it up again the next day. We lost everything which had been close to nearly nothing. The only thing to raise me up was education. Be good in school. Get good marks. Become a doctor. Drilled into my head,” he explained.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 671

“In China, at any time, some army, or the Japs or the

Communists, or the Crown will take away your house. Turn you out onto the street, a refugee in your own land. That was my life, that was all our lives. We were never sure if we belonged. After the war, we had fled China and then we settled in Hong Kong. Then a few years later we left Hong

Kong. In 1997, China will take over Hong Kong again. What then? We are sure we are Americans. But are we really? Is our future American? Is our future Chinese? Am I American because of where I now live? Or am I only forever a son of

China? One can never be too sure. We want to prove belonging by doing well, making money,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 672

“If we have money nobody can touch us. We think.

Property and wealth. But that is all fleeting too. Think of what Hitler did to the Jews. We are like the Jews in some respects. We are looking for an exit even when times are good. The good times will not last. We are optimistic, but fatalistic. We live life on the run even when we put down roots, we Chinese,” he said.

He stood up and took a deep breath. He walked over to the French doors, opened to the garden and he stood there, half in and half out, as the sun’s shadow angled across him and lit him theatrically, as if on stage, commanding her attention and the attention of the light.

She sat on the couch.

“What does that have to do with Norma and me? What have I done to offend?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 673

“Norma grew up on American movies. Before she met any

American in person, she had known them on-screen. You are

Grace Kelly. You are blonde and pretty. You have an educated accent. And your father writes poetry. You are

Beacon Hill and Harvard, woolen pullovers and pea coats.

Norma sees you as a privileged white lady who has no issues with identity. You are secure. And she is not. Perhaps she was angry, jealous or envious of this room. She thinks, wrongly, that you have it all without struggle. You are what she grew up seeing in the movies, the lucky, beautiful blonde,” Vincent said.

“Does she know my father drove a bus? That my mother killed herself when I was young? That my sister jumped off a bridge onto the Mass Pike? I ran away to California to escape all that pain! I have no family like yours. I married a man incapable of love, emotional or physical! And

I am full of remorse for people who I have let down, my father and my children!” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 674

She stood up and walked over to him, stood next to the

Shengyou Toile Indigo drapes, next to the birds and the flowers and the peasants on the fabric. She touched it, touched its essence between her fingers, linen and cotton in her hands, holding it like her a child.

Without realizing it, she pulled part of the drapery over her torso as she stood spoke, standing behind it, borrowing its Grecian costume, the fabric draping and protecting her, guarding and costuming her, a femininity in artful disguise.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 675

“I made this room. I guess I was naïve. I thought so highly of it. I brought it to fruition, as a way to reach out to Norma, to let her know I wanted to share her culture, her life, like a sister. The Chinese Room is my ridiculous, heartfelt fantasy for bringing east and west together, to heal my broken heart. But look what I have done? I offended your wife. I mocked her culture and her heritage. Trivialized it as a dilettante. Norma said being

Chinese isn’t a hobby. She was right,” Edna said.

She let go of the curtain, undraping herself.

Vincent faced Edna. He put his hands atop Edna’s shoulders, directly and professorially.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 676

“You are making more out of this than you should.

Picking Oriental decor for your home does not insult someone like me. We are both free people. This is America.

You can make a hobby of collecting African masks or Mexican blankets, you can be a Presbyterian and sprinkle Kosher salt on pork, and an Irish American can build her house to look like a pagoda. You do what makes you happy in this country,” Vincent said.

He said it sweetly. He was tolerant and open minded.

She had done nothing wrong. He assured her.

“This room that I love is a blasphemy,” Edna said.

“Enough! Are you going to punish yourself because you found joy? Do you want to dismantle this? Will its destruction atone for your cultural overstep?” he asked.

“Maybe it will,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 677

“It won’t. How hard can I stress that Norma and her moods are the cause. Not your pretty space,” he said.

“Ok. I will take your word,” Edna said.

“With my wife, everything is fine and you get along.

And then one day you ask her how she peels an avocado, with a knife or a spoon, and there is an outburst and she storms out and you don’t talk for three days. And then she is fine. Or you haven’t argued for six months and you drop your towel on the bathroom floor and she explodes. And you don’t talk for a week,” he said.

Edna listened without comment. He continued.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 678

“But I’m not trading her in. I love her. Deeply. I love her and I have loved her since we met at 17 riding the

Number 7 bus on Waterloo Road. All the boys wanted her.

She looked like a teddy girl. She is really just a jook- kok, a Chinese American born in the old country. She would probably tell me to go to hell if she knew what I told you.

We had our first kiss on Cheung Chau Island inside the darkness of Cheung Po Tsai Cave. We took the ferry there.

It rained the whole time. On the boat she said I was ying baau geng….cool enough to break a mirror. I looked like a

Chinese Elvis Presley. I was handsome then,” he said smiling.

“You still are! You are the most handsome man in

Pasadena. And you’re a doctor. Too much. She is lucky. I should be the jealous one!” Edna said.

He had succeeded in defusing the situation between the women. It had entered into his marriage, upset his wife, and affected his own well-being. He took action to pacify and repair the rift. His mission was completed.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 679

“I’m going. Thank you for the drink. Thank you for your friendship. If Norma calls, or you call her, don’t mention this, please. Just go on with her and be her friend. She doesn’t really have anyone else to call a friend. Have compassion. She doesn’t mean to be that way.

Be the bigger person. I will be the bigger man too,” he said.

She showed him out of the room and over to the front door.

“How is Rory doing? Is his medication helping?”

Vincent asked.

“Yes. He has calmed down. But I may be next to need sedation,” she said.

“Call me if you need anything. Good night,” he said.

He was out on the sidewalk near the curb when Edna called out. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 680

“Thank you for the gift of the Bauhinia,” Edna said.

What Are You Doing Here Little Girl?

At 16, Lesley became a legal driver. Her parents bought her a new 1983 Gray Honda Civic Hatchback.

She was advised by her mother to drive cautiously and only on weekends. Norma said, go to the beach, rent a bike and get exercise. Weight loss was in every conversation.

“Swim, bike, roller blade, just do something! You are fat! And it will hamper you in life, believe me!” Norma told her.

The car came with conditions, not freedom as one could expect, but restrained by a ribbon of rules. The car had a moral purpose, to bring its driver exercise. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 681

Lesley at 16 was not popular. She was a mediocre student, unlike many other Asians at school. She was not cool enough for the white crowd, and she cared little for dressing, flirting or being a girl. She carried herself in an anti-social posture, her head down, baggy jeans and lumpy sweatshirts a signal to keep away.

And something else.

She liked girls. She had no name for her feelings, but she could not, under any circumstance, imagine kissing, touching or caring about a male. She was mad at herself for becoming everything her mother hated. She was terrified that her mother would discover it.

In school, during lunch, she sat alone in the cafeteria, drawing. She was a loner. And alone when she came home to an empty house, both parents at work.

Her teen years were spent in silent agony, her outlets were drawing, and her imagination. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 682

One Saturday, she made up a tale to Norma and Vincent about going to Zuma Beach with friends. She consulted her

Thomas Guide maps. She found 1236 N. Flores, Uncle Tony’s new apartment. That was her covert destination.

They had been in touch the entire time while he was blacklisted. She would call him, every few months, chat; between them there was a kinship of similarity, two black sheep in the family, persecuted by Norma, sidelined by circumstances, alone in a hostile world. She was self- incarcerated and enraged to discover her sexual passions forbidden in speech or act. Tony was out and free. Lesley looked up to him for guidance. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 683

Uncle Tony was a hero. He was successful, he was gay, he was handsome, he drove a convertible, he had his own salon, he had a great body and gorgeous hair and he didn’t give a fuck what Norma thought about him.

He told Lesley G rated stories about his amorous adventures. His indiscretions were exciting and titillating.

His old fling with George Gilmore was a daring affair against her mother’s generation of hypocrites who put that closeted

Republican high upon the pedestal of Pasadena. Uncle Tony was his own man and a model for how Lesley wanted to live.

At his Art Deco apartment Lesley felt very cool and very grown-up. It was the latest: gray and purple walls, metallic sculptures, white shag rugs, black leather furniture, chrome steel floor lamp on marble base, an Andy Warhol print of

Jackie O.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 684

Tony never corrupted her. He protected her. He never served alcohol or lit a joint. He never spoke graphically about sex. He understood her situation. And he knew the real risk of retribution and ostracism from Norma if Lesley were found out.

He provided fun and distraction. They might hang out and listen to music, such as a new album from Hong Kong performed by Leslie Cheung and Anita Mui. That happened one Saturday with a song called “Fate.”

“Yuan fen. You might say it means destiny, or luck or coincidence. Why people come together. Not just lovers, but anyone, just like you and me. We are fated to be joined in something,” he said.

His eyes were sad, his sentiment noble.

“Little girl, my little Lesley, why did you come here today?” he asked.

“I wanted to show you my car. My new Honda,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 685

“You showed it to me a few weeks ago,” he said.

“Oh, that’s right. Why are you home today?” she asked.

“I went out last night. I drank some. I woke up hung- over. I cancelled my two appointments. And I just lay down here in the quiet, looking at the sun coming through the mini- blinds. I think it is my destiny to be alone. Besides I’m the boss. I can call in sick,” he said.

“What upset you?” she asked.

He showed her a personals page from LA Weekly.

“I’m often bored, lonely, horny. I look at this. Male for male. I go down the list. I see the same thing, over and over again. No blacks, no Asians. Can you imagine the bigotry and the hatred?” he asked.

“Muscular, young, good-looking. That’s how they all start. No blacks, no Asians, no Hispanics, that’s how they end,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 686

He got down on the floor and started doing push-ups.

“This is what I do a hundred times,” he said.

“That’s remarkable,” she said.

“It’s stupid. I can’t change my DNA,” he said as he stood back up on his feet.

“They don’t want an Asian like me. No matter how much muscle I put on, how nice my skin is, how white my teeth are.

I’m in the category of an untouchable. Worse they put me in the category with the blacks. No Asians, no blacks, no fems.

Can you imagine we are so low that we are in the same category with the dirty, criminal blacks?” he said.

“Such hatred and bigotry. Why?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 687

“I don’t know why people hate. Bigotry is the way of the world. And we are its victims. I wish I could stamp it out and make everyone love everyone!” he said.

“I think I came here on a bad day,” she said.

“The world is evil. And the gay world is evil too. The queens want their boys blond, muscular and under 30. Anyone else is a piece of shit,” he said.

“Is that why you’re home?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It felt like my day for self-pity. Cheer me up. Take me downstairs and show me your car little girl,” he said.

They walked down to the street, in front of the building, where the car was parked.

“Oh, very pretty. Very nice. I hope you enjoy it,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 688

“Uh oh,” he said as he pointed to a white envelope under a windshield wiper.

“Shit! What’s that? A ticket?” Lesley said. She grabbed it and opened it.

“$25 fine! For what?” she screamed.

“Look at the sign. They prohibit parking without a permit. But I have them inside. I forgot to tell you. That’s how West Hollywood makes money. Parking tickets. I’m sorry.

Let me give you $25,” he said.

“No way. I’m not taking it. It’s not fair. They trap you into it. I’ll rip it up and tear it into pieces those fuckers!” she said.

She tore it up.

“Not smart my dear. They will still find you. You have to pay. You can’t hide. There are penalties. You will always pay.

Believe me,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 689

“I guess this is karma for visiting you. My mother at work with God enforcing moral law. I should get going. Thank you for everything,” she said.

“Be careful. Drive safely. Get home and call me when you arrive, if you can,” he said.

Lesley left. Tony went out for a drive before night drove in from the east.

He went slowly along Santa Monica Boulevard, towards

LaBrea, through West Hollywood. He passed hardware stores, bakeries, theaters, cafés, car washes, laundries, liquor stores, and shoe shops. He was not a patron of any of these.

He did all his shopping in upscale Beverly Hills and Westwood.

He drove, meanderingly, through his neighborhood, a locality he felt no fondness for. He was only here for the time being until he ascended again to a wealthier place:

Hollywood Hills, Beverly Hills, Westwood. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 690

And drove, he did, going east, past Highland, until he crossed into the realm of male hustlers, and the night lights went on, and, under the orange sodium lamps, leaning and hanging off the facades, he saw clearly the young men who mattered.

At Cahuenga, he stopped and pulled over, headlights on a blond, white boy hustler. This one was tanned, shaggy- haired, in denim cut-offs, red and white tube socks, black

Converse gym shoes and a #11 LA Rams jersey. The mark sat along the curb, ten feet away, feigning obliviousness, guarded and wary, until he could assess the driver and classify the solicitation.

Tony parked, got out of the car and walked over to the boy.

“Hi, I’m Tony. Want to take a ride with me?” he asked.

The hustler stood up fast and friendly. He was ripped, lithe, skinny. He stretched, pulling his arms outward and extending his right hand to shake Tony’s. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 691

“I’m a hundred dollars,” he said.

Tony laughed.

“No name. Just a price?” Tony said.

“Sorry, Ted,” he said.

“Hi, Ted,” Tony said.

The hustler came closer. He clasped Tony’s right upper arm, feeling and enjoying bicep and triceps.

“Dude, you are jacked,” Ted said.

“Aw thanks. I try,” Tony said.

“I mean you are so big. Your chest, your arms, your shoulders. Handsome guy too, shiny black hair and gorgeous smile,” Ted said.

It was a come-on, a performance. But it worked. Tony was hard. Ted saw.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 692

These hustler’s words were a tonic, ego bubbling and exhilarating.

“Are you sure you want to get in? I’m Chinese,” Tony said.

“Hell, yeah. Chinese guys are hot. They look like pussy cats but they are lions. I know Chinese,” Ted said.

“Nǐ shuō pǔtōnghuà?” Tony asked.

“Huh?”

“You said you speak Chinese. I asked if you knew

Mandarin?” Tony said.

“No. No speak Chinese,” he said.

“I thought not. C’mon rent boy. Let’s ride,” Tony said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 693

Tony swung the door open. The hustler sat down. He had a clean, fresh, athletic smell, Irish Spring and English

Leather. Though he took up the whole length of the passenger seat from the ceiling to the floor, his lankiness was compact, and there was room on either side of the bucket seat and Tony stuck his hand atop the kid’s left thigh as they drove.

They rode back to the apartment, racier and faster than before, the West Hollywood winds blowing through the car, a portentous and suggestive journey of a few minutes.

They turned up Flores, Tony rubbed Ted’s hard-on. They parked in front of the building.

Tony turned off the engine. They sat in the car. Tony had the key and held the power. Ted took his belt off, opened his zipper, pulled out his erection.

“Nice. Let’s take it upstairs. It’s too huge to work with down here,” Tony said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 694

And for an hour, back upstairs in the bed, Tony had everything he wanted from the rental. There were no boundaries, nothing the hustler wouldn’t do. The price was only $100, two haircuts for Tony, well worth it.

At 48 minutes, Ted, open mouthed, tongue out, tried to kiss Tony, but Tony turned away knowing that a wet kiss was an unsealed consummation of true affection, unsuited for bounty intercourse. It mattered not at all to Ted, a performer who threw out his carnal acts for entertainment and nothing more.

They went into the bathroom. And they both got into the shower and Tony soaped up Ted and rubbed the bar of soap all over, lathering the kid like a snowman, and jerking Ted off like a slot machine. The mechanized sex culminated when Ted shot out cum that hit the pink tiles around the bath. Tony took the hand shower, with the expertise of a hair stylist, sprayed it against the tile, and washed it all down into the bathtub drain, a hot, soapy vortex of suds and water. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 695

The brief interlude with the escort was 90 minutes, from pickup to exit of heightened anticipation and unimaginable lust, holding and penetrating and possessing a beautiful young man.

And then the climax came. And the sex ended. The boy in the bedroom shrunk back into a transaction devoid of love or significance. And Tony just wanted him to go.

Before he left, Ted remarked that he was surprised that Tony was a top.

“Because I’m Asian I can’t be a top?” Tony asked.

“No. I didn’t mean that. You have a really nice cock.

It stays hard,” Ted said.

They walked into the hall. Tony put five $20’s into the hustler’s hands who shoved the bills into his pocket.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 696

“I’m really sorry what I said about you being a surprise top,” he said.

“Why apologize? I’ve heard it many times,” Tony said.

The hustler walked down the hall and Tony could hear him step down the wood stairs and walk out the front door.

What was his name again? Tony couldn’t remember. The hour of intimacy was over.

Tony went back into the bedroom. He stripped off the sheets and stuffed them into a laundry basket.

He got coins for the washing machine, took a one-use box of Fab off a shelf and dropped it on top of the dirty sheets. And he hurriedly took the basket out of the closet and went fast to the basement laundry-room to clean and sanitize, dry and forget.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 697

Tree Planting

“Take the spade and dig a little with it. Do it carefully, a bit at a time. Make sure there are no water pipes. Go slowly. Good job! You’re doing well. That’s my boy,” Edna said.

Edna and Rory were in the backyard garden planting the gift of the Bauhinia tree. She stood looking over him as he dug in the dirt, and then she looked up in the sky, saw gray clouds and it made her happy.

The weather was cool again. The hot days left town.

North of San Simeon it was raining, and the rains were moving south, hour by hour, mile by mile. And the dark clouds in the northern skies of the Southland, the ones that take many days to build up, were gathering, reclaiming their space in the sky, the beneficence of their presence a hopeful omen.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 698

Rory squatted, heels flat on the brick, and jammed the hand shovel into the dirt, carefully and systematically.

His little hands and pre-pubescent arms were no match for the hardened soil.

Edna took a hose, turned on the water, and she brought it over to her son who grabbed ahold and sprayed it on the hole.

“Let it soak in. You have to be patient. Don’t hurry.

That’s the lesson. Everything takes time to grow,” she said.

He was improving in many ways.

His outbursts, under medication, were fewer. His bi- polar episodes were managed. She wondered if the absence of

George had made Rory happier. Certainly, it had beneficial effects for Edna.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 699

They both took hold of the little tree, its base wrapped in burlap and string. She cut the string with scissors, and together, they pulled it out of its entrapment. Edna took a spade and cut into the roots. And they both placed the tree into the dirt and smoothed the soil around it.

The Incident

“Please go inside and wash your hands. I have another assignment for you because you’ve been such a good boy,” she said.

Rory smiled proudly and went into the kitchen to clean his hands.

Edna made lunch: cocoa with marshmallows, toasted

American cheese on white toast, fruit cocktail and chicken noodle soup. When he ate well, she felt nourished.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 700

As Rory lunched, Edna went out to get the mail. There were a dozen items for George, some bills, and another pile in the house. Every time his mail came was a stab wound, a reminder of his existence.

Ed, the usual mailman, was away on a field trip for a few days. He would not return until Saturday, later in the week. She had to get George’s mail out of her sight.

Edna asked Rory to take the mail up to George. She would not, under any circumstance, go there.

Sending Rory up there was a mechanism for irritation.

She sort of liked the idea. But she instructed him exactly how to go into enemy territory.

“Leave it next to his door. Don’t knock. Just put his bag of letters and bills right there and be off quickly!

Get out in seconds. He may or may not be home. I don’t know. But don’t bother him, don’t say hello or good-bye, just be silent and speedy, get on your bike and leave!” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 701

“Ok. I hope he doesn’t see me,” Rory said.

He rode his bike along Arbor Street, balancing a mailed filled paper bag on his lap, pedaling along, hands off the handlebars, balancing himself perfectly.

He turned into the sidewalk at his father’s unit, dropped his bike along the walk, went to the door and laid the bag down outside.

He put his ear to the door of the apartment. He heard music, a pounding disco beat, and he was curious.

He peered down behind the hedges planted under a bedroom window. He looked inside the apartment and saw a woman in a short, lacy, black negligee bending over a bed.

Behind her was a young naked man with longish blond hair, moving rhythmically against her.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 702

But then he made out the face of the woman. It was his father. Rory covered his mouth, shocked, disbelieving, revolted. But he continued watching.

It was beyond his comprehension. He could not describe it. He wanted to pound on the glass and make it stop. But he got scared.

He ran off to his bike, got on it, and pedaled home like an escaped fugitive.

He had seen his father naked, making love with another man. His innocence was assaulted. The perpetrator had exposed himself by accident.

He got home. And he stormed into to the kitchen, turned on the cold water and threw it over his face. The water spilled down his shirt.

“Shit!” he screamed and stomped his feet and pounded them on the mat. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 703

“Shit, fuck this!” he yelled again.

Edna heard him and rushed into the room.

“What is it? What is going on here?” she said.

“I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t see anything. I left the mail by his door! I came home! And I never spoke to him!” he yelled.

“What are you talking about? What is it? Why are you so upset? Did he see you?” she asked.

He wouldn’t look at her.

She pulled him away from the sink, holding him in place, staring directly into his face.

“What happened up there?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 704

“Nothing! I didn’t do anything! I didn’t do anything!

I did just as you told me!” he protested.

“Then what is it?” she asked.

“I can’t talk about it. I can’t,” he said.

Tears came out of his eyes.

“Just tell me quietly. I’m not going to punish you,” she said.

“He was dressed like a woman. He was doing something I can’t say with another man,” he said.

She stood up and looked away.

“Say that again,” she said, quietly.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 705

“I’m not repeating it. I saw it through the window,” he said.

“I should not have sent you up there. Don’t go there again. Your father makes us all deranged,” she said.

“Go change your shirt. Cool down,” she said. He went to put on a new, clean top.

She didn’t believe him. The story was made up. She needed to call Vincent.

Another Loss

The boys left for school. Vincent came to see Edna before he went to the hospital.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 706

He was polite and brief. He stood in the hall, dressed in tan slacks, black slip-ons and a white cotton doctor’s coat.

Her face was anxious, tired.

She invited him in, but he stood at the door, and politely declined. “I have little time. What’s going on?” he asked.

She told him that yesterday Rory went up to George’s place on an errand. And came back home with a made up a story about George dressed in women’s clothes and having sex with another man.

It sounded plausible to Vincent. He was silent and listened.

“I see. Do you think there’s any truth to it?” Vincent asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 707

“It’s a made-up story. Of course! I don’t like many things about my husband but this is beyond the pale. The shock are the details Rory invented. This is a new territory for him, imagining fantasy and believing it,” she said.

“What makes you think it is a lie?” Vincent asked, looking at his watch.

“I’ve been married to George for almost twenty years.

I hate a lot of things about him. I do. But I am not going off the deep end and believe he wears women’s clothes and is gay!” she said.

Vincent listened. He moved his commentary into the professional lane, out of family conflict and dark secrets.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 708

“Of course. Rory’s mental health is the priority. My specialty is not mental health. I did serve some months at

Castle Peak Mental Hospital in the New Territories for my training, but that was long ago. They had no psychotropic medications like now and we understood far less. I’ll make some calls. And I can refer you to another specialist.

Would that help?” he asked.

“Thank you. I need help too. Could you write a prescription for me? I’m so nervous and anxious. It never ends,” she said.

He told her about Xanax, a new anti-anxiety drug. He would call it into Fair Oaks Pharmacy where there was also a lunch counter where they served and banana splits which cheered Edna somewhat. Xanax and ice cream, lovely.

“Don’t stress too much about Rory. Kids do make up things. And maybe they admit it later. He could be angry at his father for how he treats him, and, who knows, he thought he’d say something awful about George to strike out at him,” Vincent said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 709

“If anybody has it coming to them it’s George. A father should never treat his son like that,” Edna said.

As they spoke at the front door, Edna saw, over

Vincent’s shoulder, George’s car pull up to the curb.

“We have company. Don’t look. George is coming up behind you,” Edna said.

Then there were three.

“Hello Vincent,” George said.

“Hi, George. Let me say hello and good-bye and get myself to work. I was just leaving,” Vincent said, slipping out quickly with agility.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Have a good day. I might be seeing your wife later. For business,” George said.

Vincent left. George stood at the door like just another visitor.

Edna was abrupt. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 710

“What?” she asked.

“I tried to call the house and couldn’t get through,” he said.

“I was standing out here talking to him. I didn’t hear it ring,” she said.

They stood there, half in, half out, awkwardly, self- consciously.

His face was grave. He had come to tell her something.

“I had a call from the Boston Fire Department twenty minutes ago. The Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. You may want to come inside and sit down,” he said.

Edna clutched George’s arm. And strangely George took hold of Edna tenderly, the way he never had, and they came back inside and they sat down in the Chinese Room on the sofa. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 711

“My father?” she asked.

George spoke looking into the room without eye contact.

“He died. In a fire last night,” George said.

She let out a gasp.

“Oh God, no!” she said.

He explained.

Epsom had been frying eggs on the stove. He lost balance, they think, bruised his head and became disoriented, and lost consciousness. Newspapers near the stove caught fire. There was smoke. A neighbor smelled it and called the fire department. They came within minutes, but the apartment was full of smoke, your father did not survive. He was on the floor where he fell and hit his head. He died of asphyxiation. I don’t think he suffered as he went out when he bumped the wall. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 712

“Lord have mercy on us all! What more can I endure?

What more?” she asked.

It was a moment of peculiar tragedy with her estranged husband, who earlier was the subject of a prurient tale told by their son. Now the protagonist was cast in a supportive role, in a heartbreaking scene, offering condolences and solace, empathy and compassion. He was reborn, resurrected from sin, recast as an angelic messenger, to bring the news of a father’s death to his wife, to comfort and support her.

“I’m actually relieved if he died accidentally and swiftly. I hope he didn’t suffer. Unlike my mother and sister, he didn’t choose to die. It was chosen for him.

Does that make it more palatable?” she asked.

George took her hand, grasped it, and for this moment they were husband and wife again.

“Where is he now? The morgue?” Edna asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 713

“Yes,” George said.

“I have to fly back then,” she said.

“No. I will. Let me handle it,” he said.

“You mean you’ll go in my place?” she asked.

“Of course. I’ll hire someone in Boston to go into the apartment and clean it up,” he said.

“My father requested cremation in his living will,” she said. She stood up and looked around the Chinese Room, formerly the office, now without file cabinets. Somewhere in those files was the will. She walked over to a china cabinet and threw up her hands.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Our files are in your apartment. Which include some of mine. You have my father’s will,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 714

“I have it under control. Epsom’s papers are in that file labeled ‘Epsom.’ Simple as that. When I go back to my townhouse, I’ll find it. I’ll make a Xerox. I’ll bring it to Boston. It’s not complex. He has no property, no assets, no money, no stocks, no artwork. He made his departure simple,” George said.

“What he left me has no price,” she said.

“I will take care of it. You’ve suffered enough,” he said.

“How?” she asked.

They both now stood in the Chinese Room. And looked at each other. He grasped for some suitable words.

“Your father was a good Christian,” George said.

That made her laugh. She pulled the drapes and opened the French doors to air out the room.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 715

“He was no Christian. He never was a Christian. He lived to keep his word, to speak truth, to write down what he felt. He never credited God or a divine force. He was too smart to proclaim the source of our existence. He told me, on many occasions, there was no God. No God. God had no part of his life. But if he lived and died as a Christian man, it was entirely through his own character and decency, his humility and his love for his little family,” she said.

George listened to her eulogy.

“This dying is a morbid, unwanted thing. But this is our life. There is no other path,” George said poetically.

“We don’t need a service. Unitarian was his creed.

But no God please,” Edna said.

George smiled in acknowledgement. He was going back to his townhouse. He told her to rest, to eat something, and take care of herself. He looked around his former office.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 716

“You made this beautiful. A real Chinese fantasy. I’ll call my travel agent and get a flight tonight. We shall talk soon,” he said.

Then he let himself out the front door and slowly closed it behind him.

The house was empty. The boys were out. The orphan’s hour had arrived. For now, for Edna, there was only grief and memory.

Alone, she thought of the remarkable events of the last few days, a mercurial ride. Every day brought something unforeseen and unimaginable: cross dressing, sex stories, mental breakdowns, her father’s death. And George was the font, the precipitating matter, the source which produced malevolence and distress.

Yet, he had just acted with civility and propriety, an impersonation of high character.

His actions were so removed from his usual odiousness it startled and made her uncomfortable. For she feared he would ask for something in return. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 717

She wanted to call Norma. But what would Norma say?

Would Edna be indicted for killing her own father? Leaving an old man alone in Boston to die at the kitchen stove.

How could he have been so stupid and left those newspapers near the flame? She was ready to call him and chew him out. She went to pick up the phone. Then realized he was dead.

Sandalwood

Late in the afternoon, Vincent came to check on Edna.

He knocked on the front door but there was no answer. He pushed down on the brass doorknob. It was unlocked, so he went in.

He said hello. But no one replied. He took off his shoes and went into the Chinese Room. And there she was, on the sofa, asleep lightly.

She woke right up, curled in place, eyes open, scrunched into the velvet. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 718

“Hi. I’m sorry I fell asleep. What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to check up. How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat on the couch end.

“Tired. But I napped. The boys are out somewhere. I took the time to rest,” she said.

There were sounds of laughing and ball dribbling on the driveway.

“I hear them. I guess they were out there the entire time. Let them play,” she said.

He reached over to the sofa back, grabbed a red and white fleece blanket and laid it across her body.

“Those days of dribbling and shooting baskets. I played with a YMCA league at Southorn Playground. When I was 11 years old I attended the dedication of a new covered basketball court. I’m nearly a pro,” he said laughing.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 719

“Thank you,” she said, her little hands pulling the cover up girlishly. He smiled at her. Like a friend, a doctor, or a lover.

“Are you wearing cologne?” she asked.

“A bit. Why? Does it bother you?” he asked.

“No. I like it. It calms me down. Or maybe it’s you that calms me,” she said.

“Sandalwood,” he said.

He stood up, reverting to formality and authority.

“I assume you have not told Norma about your father.

May I? I’m sure she will want to come here and see you,” he said.

He was always repairing, soothing, mending tears. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 720

“Sure. Tell her. I’m sure she will condemn me for it.

I know I should have brought him here to live. She told me so a thousand times. Instead I ran away from Boston, escaped to Pasadena, for what? To marry George Gilmore,” she said.

“Few come here because they were happy elsewhere. But it’s over and done. When you are in mourning you have to get rest. And eat. Soup, hot tea, pork buns are good, a bowl of rice to coat your stomach,” he said.

“Why couldn’t I have met a man like you?” she asked.

“You have,” he said.

“Do you mind if I go back to sleep again? I can’t keep my eyes open,” she asked.

“Rest. I’ll let myself out,” he said.

She fell back asleep. He took the side table telephone off the hook. And then he went quietly out of the room. He tip-toed into the kitchen and used the red wall phone to order delivery of food and medication. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 721

Protocol/Mourning

Edna stayed in the Chinese Room, sprawled out on the commodious mustard yellow sofa. She rested, fell into a nap, awoke with her tousled, messed hair wrapped around a

Chiang Mai dragon pillow.

She was beat up, cracked by sadness. There would be no rescue coming, only a slow, agonizing trial of pain, a slog, after her father’s death.

The doorbell rang. She heard Rory talking.

She stood, dizzily, and took a deep breath to steady herself. She went over to the mirrored cabinet and tugged at her hair.

Rory peeked in.

“Mom. The Yue’s are here. They want to come in. Is that OK?” he asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 722

“Yes, yes. Show them in please,” she said.

She didn’t care how she looked. Damn the hair, fuck dressing. Caught and trapped by surprise condolences, she had nowhere to go. She was forced, by necessity, to greet them unraveled.

After the sorrow, she didn’t have any motivation or care left to perform as an exquisitely tidy lady.

She grabbed a robe, and tied it, and went hurriedly turning on three lamps. She was just lighting the last one when Norma came in. Edna turned around. Norma kissed her on the cheek.

They had not spoken since the fight.

“I’m so sorry. I’m truly sorry. You are going to be all right,” Norma said. She was mournful, as a working professional, in black, tailored blouse, gray trousers. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 723

Edna remembered seeing the outfit in the window at

Bullocks on Lake Street, last fall, when she was unhappier for different reasons and had wandered for distraction.

“Thank you for coming. You look very nice. Bullocks?”

Edna said.

“How do you always know the exact origin of my clothes, my wonderful, stylish friend,” she said.

“Not looking stylish today missy,” Edna said.

Lesley came over to shake Edna’s hand.

“I’m really bummed out for you,” Lesley said.

“We brought some things for you. This is part of our tradition from back home. What we do when someone we love passes. May I have your permission to bring them in?” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 724

“Whatever you want to do for me is more than I can ask for,” Edna said.

Vincent walked in with a large box. Norma motioned to him to set it atop a dark green Parsons table. He smiled at

Edna while looking to his wife for direction.

“We are setting up a table to honor your father,” he said, placing a white bowl on the table. And he took some navel oranges out of the box and set them into the bowl.

Norma placed two joss sticks in a little container and lit them. She took a vintage framed photograph of Epsom with Rebecca and Edna and placed it behind the oranges and the burning incense.

“Where did you find that photograph?” Edna said.

“I’m sneaky. I asked Rory to get me a slide of Epsom and I had an 8 x 10 enlargement made,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 725

“Lesley, go in the kitchen and bring me a washcloth, some napkins and utensils. Go with Rory,” she instructed.

Lesley looked at Rory and rolled her eyes. Out of her mother’s sight she was still at odds with Norma.

“Do this, do that, do this, do that. Her favorite words,” Lesley said to Rory as they went down the hall.

Back in the Chinese Room, the mourning, mise en scène was nearing completion.

“I almost forgot these,” Norma said.

She reached into a paper bag and pulled out a bunch of fresh, young iris flowers white petals, yellow hearts, green stems.

She put them into a white porcelain pitcher embossed with pink roses. And set it within the shrine.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 726

Vincent went out to the car and came back with a wide, turkey sized baking pan container of foil wrapped foods.

“Something to eat. Chicken, rice, vegetables, some melon soup. Nothing spicy,” he said.

“Put the food on the coffee table. Edna can sit on the sofa and we’ll serve her,” Norma ordered.

Rory and Lesley brought in paper towels and plates and utensils.

“I asked for a damp washcloth!” Norma said.

“I thought paper towels were good enough,” Lesley said.

“Well they aren’t!” Norma snapped.

Norma took the dry paper towel and dusted the shrine table. “If it’s dusty, it’s disrespectful,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 727

“This is so kind of you. And I look like a mess,” Edna said.

Norma took a small square piece of cloth and pinned it onto Edna’s left robe sleeve.

“You stay in your house clothes, your comfortable things. These are your deserved days of sorrow. Don’t remove this until 49 days from now. We call these xiao, mourning pins,” Norma said.

Edna looked down at the cloth. It reminded her of a nametag on her first day of school.

“We are going to put a white banner over the front door of your house. Is that all right with you?” Norma asked.

“I have no objection,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 728

“Another tradition in our culture. I hope these acts are comforting,” Norma said.

“They are. They’re new to me but I embrace them,” Edna said.

Norma was the purveyor of these wondrous, mystical, funerial protocols. She brought them, installed them, made them work, as if they were essential utilities. She pacified Edna by transforming grief into an objective exercise.

What split the women days earlier was long forgotten.

Norma supplied a structure for the rites of acknowledging a death in the family. These rites were unknown to Edna who was raised liberally as a non-believing

Unitarian. Norma saw her friend lost in the land of the skeptics and brought assuredness in these imported rituals.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 729

Norma saw, as disabilities, Edna’s estrangement from religion, family and culture. For Edna was a liberal

Bostonian, an innocent freethinker, without a structure of divine belief, without familial traditions, peripatetically rootless, orbiting life without the guidance of ancestors and spirits.

Norma erected a structure of propriety and guidance for a wandering, lost child.

On the edge of the room, near the door, Rory sat on the floor quietly watching. Lesley came over to talk. They both slumped against the wall, rebel bodies in conjunction.

“All this stuff. Have you seen it before?” he asked.

“Nope. She said we needed to do it. And then she sent

Dad out for food and flowers. When Norma barks, you obey,”

Lesley said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 730

“I think she’s trying to be nice. My mom appreciates the food and the decorations,” Rory said.

“Cultural imperialism. That’s what it’s called. I learned it in history class. You bring your own culture over, like England did to India, China and Malaysia. You subjugate another people. And then you claim you are helping the country you conquered by making it more civilized,” Lesley said.

“I don’t understand. I just like the whole show. It’s like a theater with actors, props and decorations,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 731

They conversed inside the brilliance, lavishness and theatricality of the Chinese Room. Even in its mournful transformation there remained joy and the smell of food: chicken with ginger, mushrooms and garlic; the scent of sandalwood burning, the floral aromas, the bright bowl of oranges; a faraway death merely a point of reference for even grander room décor.

“When you get into high school they’ll teach you about foreign history and how colonialism works. This is colonialism in reverse, Norma style,” Lesley said.

“I don’t understand. I just like the whole show,” Rory said. They watched the room, a play performed.

Deep beyond its surface décor the Chinese Room was now a new sanctuary, a place of refuge, an absurd novelty transformed by ritual into four walls of profundity.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 732

The head mourner, Edna, was uplifted and strengthened by the presence of her friends and family. She was honored by their erection of a memorial, nourished by food, grateful for the return of Norma.

The visitors stayed a few hours. And this time, when

Norma walked out, she departed in love and kisses.

Ginger and Harriet Visit

After the Yue’s departure there was a brief, few minutes of calm for Edna. She went out front for air. On the brick path she stood in the sun.

Earlier, the lawn had been cut and watered, it smelled fresh and alive.

Now there were visitors. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 733

A long, black sedan parked in front. Chrysler New

Yorker Brougham. The car was formidable and solid, big chrome bumpers, hidden headlights, padded roof, hood ornament.

Who, Edna wondered? It looked like the Secret Service.

The car doors opened. It was Ginger Nordquist and

Harriet Stevenson, those two well-intentioned and stalwart matrons.

“Hello dear! We’ve come here to bring you some cheer!”

Ginger said to their bereaved friend.

Ginger was dressed contritely and appropriately in a ruffled black blouse, styled with a large silver cross draped around her neck, and pressed tan slacks. She carried a gift-wrapped book. Harriet was in a brown wrap dress and gold belt around her 5’11 frame. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 734

As they approached, forms enlarged, Edna deflated.

She really didn’t want them here, now.

She had been caught unguarded, getting air. She waved with her fingers, smiled, and swore underneath.

Harriet kissed her on the cheek, Ginger did the same.

Each woman went on either side of Edna, entwining their arms in hers, and they all walked back to the front door.

“I skipped lunch to come here,” Harriet said.

“Do we need to take off our shoes?” Ginger asked.

“No. Please. Leave them on. We have food inside,” Edna said.

They all went back into the Chinese Room.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 735

“Oh gosh. What a gorgeous room. I’m so impressed. They should take this, object by object, and put it, piece by piece into the museum. To think a little white woman dreamed this up!” Harriet said.

Ginger reviewed the shrine with its bowl of oranges, its photos of Epsom and his daughters. The incense ashes had burned out.

“How touching. You arranged this so movingly, so suitably,” Ginger said.

“Norma Loh made it,” Edna said.

“Perfect decoration! I’m starved! Can I eat one these oranges?” Harriet said.

“No. I’m sorry. Those are for the shrine. Not to eat,”

Edna said.

“Of course. I’m only the fool who would ask,” Harriet said.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. What else can I say? You are blessed in many ways. I hope your wonderful family can give you the love and support you need,” Ginger said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 736

“I wish we had come here for happier times. We can only bring smiles and love. And get me some food I’m hungry,” Harriet said.

Harriet always reminded Edna of Julia Child, another big-boned Pasadenan, tall, ungainly, and exuberant. When

Harriet spoke, she improvised, like a home cook, flavoring by instinct, randomly pulling spices out of a cabinet or words from mid-air, hoping for the best.

“Just having you here is nice. There’s some crackers and cheese if you want. Oh, we have chicken and rice too,”

Edna said.

Harriet peeked under the aluminum foil. She took a plate and shoved chicken and vegetables and rice on, grabbed a fork and sat down on the sofa.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 737

“Thank God for this!” she said.

“While Harriet eats, why don’t you see what I brought you? Go ahead, unwrap it,” Ginger said.

Edna tore the paper off. Inside was a book, Principles of Spiritual Growth by Miles J. Stanford, a Christian guide for life and belief.

“Jesus is forever helpful. I hope you will find comfort in him,” Ginger said.

“I’m sure I will. Thank you for this thoughtful book.

It’s just what I need,” Edna said.

Ginger walked around the room. She was amused and impressed.

She picked up a blue and white Kangxi porcelain plate from the 17th Century. She looked on the back at six indecipherable Chinese characters. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 738

“This must be expensive. And historic. Did Norma help you select these?” Ginger asked.

“Oh no! Norma is so busy. I did it all myself. She is no expert either. She is just as ignorant of these antiquities as we are,” Edna said to her fellow docents from the Pacific Asia Museum.

“She’s a big goldfish in the bowl. I saw her face on a bus bench near Raymond and Colorado. Norma Loh! Realtor for the Finest Homes in the San Gabriel Valley! Something else! She just came to our country the day before yesterday, a poor, shy girl. Remember how quiet she was at our Oriental Smorgasbord?” Ginger said.

“She looks like a Chinese Joan Collins!” Harriet said through a full mouth of rice.

The way they tore into Norma, with bitter and caustic quips, offended Edna. But she remained mute and complicit.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 739

“I wish I had something to do like she does. She has a reason to get up in the morning,” Edna said.

“Oh, come now. You are a wife, a mother, and judging by this room, a very talented lady decorator!” Ginger said.

Harriet burst out laughing. “Lady decorator? What other kind is there? Unless you’re a fag!” she said.

“I’m really just a privileged matriarch who lives in a home with three numbers. 6-9-8 Westbridge Place,” Edna said.

“Come sit here Edna. I want to tell you something,”

Harriet said, putting her half-eaten plate aside.

Edna sat down next to her. Harriet grasped her hand.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 740

“You deserve this home. You made it what it is. Your father, a distinguished Bostonian, God rest his soul, he is looking down and beaming,” Harriet said, eulogizing a man she had never met.

“What have you heard from your hubby?” Ginger asked, divertingly.

Harriet interjected.

“George is in Boston! I heard it from Edgar. What a marvelous and thoughtful man. I told Edgar he better do the same for me when my Chicago father croaks,” Harriet said.

“He went to Boston?” Ginger asked.

“Yes. He insisted,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 741

“What religious tradition were you raised in?” Ginger asked.

“Unitarian. I never much partook of it. But in Boston you need to be something. And Unitarian is as near to nothing that’s something as you can get. I didn’t make that up. Mrs. Oliver Wendell Holmes did,” Edna said.

Harriet laughed.

“Don’t feel bad. I was brought up fearing nuns. All those sore, red knuckles those miserable nuns at Queen of

All Saints inflicted on me! I still remember screaming. All of Sauganash could hear me,” Harriet said.

Ginger pointed to the white cloth pinned on Edna.

“What is this dear?” Ginger asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 742

“Norma brought it. The Chinese wear it on their arm to show respect in mourning. They also brought me food, they set up this shrine with my father’s picture on it, they lit the incense and placed the oranges there. All for me,” Edna said.

There was silence. The women listened in anticipation of something sadder.

Edna’s voice broke. She spoke again, through memory, pain, sorrow and loss.

“I have no rituals to fall back upon. My mother, my sister, and my father, all went quickly and unexpectedly.

All cremated. And our Unitarian system doesn’t believe in one way of doing funerals or mourning. Now, instantly, from the old Confucian traditions came all of this. And I’m grateful,” Edna said.

“Of course. This is an act of love, a tribute,”

Harriet said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 743

“But you’re a Christian! It’s fine to have this shrine as decoration, but your true faith is with Jesus Christ,”

Ginger said.

Edna improvised, patronizing and expressing religious sentiments for her devout guests.

“Vincent and Norma told me my father’s soul is being helped up into heaven. God knows he needs a boost. He was no believer. He thought that life ended at death. But now I think his spirit is travelling peacefully to the other side. He has a wonderful life ahead of him after death.

Isn’t that remarkable?” Edna said.

Edna had a glazed and wandering look, immersed in spiritualism, unmoored from reality. She channeled an improvised gibberish served up to accommodate her guests.

To her touched and moved visitors, Edna spoke the truth from her heart.

“Remarkable. But true. Life after death is the only certainty, we Christians can count on!” Ginger said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 744

Ginger rubbed Edna’s hand.

“Pray to God. Ask for his mercy and compassion. May I read you something first?”

“Yes,” Edna said.

Ginger opened the spiritual book where she had folded a page down and highlighted a passage.

“Blessed is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus

Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles so that we may be able to comfort those experiencing any trouble with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God,” Ginger said.

“A lot of comforts there. Thank you,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 745

“Corinthians 2. My favorite. I go back time and again.

You need to read the Gospel to get through these dark times. But don’t worry. The better days, the brighter days, they are coming back,” Ginger said.

Harriet and Ginger sandwiched Edna on the sofa. Their closeness became oppressive, their atmosphere deoxygenating. Edna buried her face in her hands, wanting escape. They took it as a culminating expression of her grief.

They reached for the nearest banalities to express profundity and solidarity.

“Your husband is coming back. You will have him home soon, along with your sons. You are blessed,” Ginger said.

February 1985: Continued

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 746

George returned to Pasadena from his solemn errand in

Boston.

He carried a Certificate of Death from the

Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The document was in a large manila envelope. He brought it over to give to Edna and placed it in her hand.

“The death of Mr. Epsom Lodge is now official,” she said at the side door. He had parked on the driveway, knocked on the service door. She was reluctant to invite him in. In he came. He brushed past her into the hall as if he had a pressing errand.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 747

“I’ll use the bathroom and be right out,” he said. She stood with the death certificate, waiting.

He came out, still in his Boston clothes: a tan, unbelted raincoat, khakis and a burgundy, V-neck wool sweater.

He was tired, worn out, depleted.

He spoke close to her. “I just don’t feel well,” he said.

His breath was foul, like a piece of gone bad fish in a hot back seat of a summertime car.

She looked at his face.

His eyes were red, he was drawn, he looked thinner, he was sweating.

She thought his cold weather clothes were all wrong.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 748

“It’s sunny and 80 degrees, and you’re dressed for the winter. Please, take off your sweater, sit down. Let me fix you something,” she said.

He nodded and walked into the kitchen and slumped into a modern cane back chair. The chair bothered him.

“What is this?” he asked, looking down at the chrome legs which came around the seat like an inverted question mark.

She handed him a glass of water.

“Marcel Breuer. Something contemporary. The children like it,” she said.

He looked more than just tired.

“I boiled some eggs earlier. Would you like two?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 749

“Eggs? That sounds nauseating. Maybe a glass of water, not too cold,” he said.

She poured water into a cup and handed it to him.

“I’m not hungry or feeling well. It started when I took a walk yesterday. I went down that wide, gracious street with the trees and the statues and the old brownstones,” he said.

“Comm Ave. Commonwealth?” she said.

“That’s it. I was admiring a statue. William Lloyd

Garrison, the abolitionist. I stopped to read the words on the base,” he said.

“I know it,” she said.

“The statue or the words?” he asked wearily.

“Do you know the words?” she asked.

“No, of course not,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 750

“I am in earnest—I will not equivocate—I will not excuse—I will not retreat a single inch—and I will be heard,” she said.

“Marvelous. Well your father was a poet you must have inherited his affinity for it. How fine he was to live for principle,” George said.

“My father?” Edna asked.

“William Lloyd Garrison! Who else? He was earnest and not equivocating and not excusing. Who but a statue would stand so true?” he asked.

“You got sick when you saw the abolitionist’s statue?” she asked.

“Yes. Right there is when I got weak,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 751

“I felt dizzy. I thought maybe it was the weather or the cold wind. I was sick and it wasn’t going away. I sat down on a bench at Dartmouth Street, outside the old Hotel

Vendome. And then I walked back to my hotel. And I went to sleep for 12 hours, woke up today, took a cab to Logan, and here I am,” he said.

She looked at his face, aged and haggard.

Gone was his stern, stoic jaw and frigid blue eyes that denied empathy to all. He looked wrong, beset by strange, undiagnosed maladies.

“You have to go today and see Vincent,” she said, standing over him, a dry dish towel draped across her wrist. She wiped his head with it.

Then she put her hand across his forehead, placed it flat to check for fever.

“You have a temperature. And your eyes, they don’t look right. Open your mouth for me,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 752

He opened up and she looked in.

She saw white spots on the roof of his mouth, inside his cheeks, on his tongue.

He saw her alarm and dread. The fact that he was so acquiescent to her concern was also a bad sign. His normal behavior was hostility and rejection.

“Go to Huntington Hospital. Do you want me to call him?” she asked.

He used the table to jack himself up and stand on his feet. She took her arm to steady him and flung it around his shoulder. They walked out of the side door of the house and down to his car on the driveway.

As he drove away, pity, sorrow and worry replaced her once incurable hostility.

What was ailing him? And who would take care of this sick man? Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 753

Here’s That Rainy Day

George was sick.

His fever remained, unconquered, triumphant, a constant, debilitating misery of drenching chills at 100 degrees.

Sapped from high temperature, he went under blanket covers, out of bed, to the toilet, doubled over, nauseous, vomiting, with burning, throbbing, unending diarrhea.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 754

He lost all appetite. What he consumed came right back up, his constitution was corrupted, his body malfunctioning. He had no control over his feces. Stomach pains, and aches, wretched, and torturous. His mouth was numb, he lost taste. His throat hurt like itchy cotton wool.

He saw Vincent, gave blood, got a penicillin prescription, blood tests.

After one examination, doctor and patient, on either side of desk, sat down to confer.

“Have you had sexual intercourse with other men? And were you the recipient of anal sex without a condom?”

Vincent asked.

The question eviscerated George. He had spent his life running from it, evading it, denying it, lying about it.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 755

“Me? Married me? Father of two boys? USC baseball player?” George asked.

Disbelieving levity could not deter the doctor.

“Have you?” Vincent asked.

Humiliated and ashamed, eyes cast down, he mumbled something. He could not speak clear. He would not speak frankly.

Backed into it, chastened by its directness, he had nowhere to run. He almost nearly answered it honestly.

“Are you gay? Are you sleeping with men?” Vincent asked again.

He had a what the hell moment.

He told the truth.

“Many, many times,” George sighed. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 756

“That’s an honest admission. Thank you. I know that wasn’t easy. I have to establish a probable cause for your condition,” Vincent said.

Did it matter? George loved men. He crawled to the condition like a recovering alcoholic, owning it, attempting to conquer it through acknowledgement.

“Your opinion of me, is, no doubt, in the toilet,”

George said.

“I don’t judge. I don’t condemn. I try to treat and heal my patients,” Vincent said.

“And the sick ones who fucked up are just as worthy of treatment as the moral ones,” George said.

“What is moral? That’s a word medicine does not recognize. Even saints die,” Vincent said.

“No saint fucked around with hundreds of people,”

George said.

“But if that saint wore a condom even his devilish immorality would not matter to the virus. Understand?”

Vincent asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 757

George had no answer. He nodded just to pass it back to Vincent.

“You know the risk factor for men who sleep with men is highest. AIDS is striking that group more than any other,” Vincent said.

“I’m not really in that group. I sometimes am, but

I’ve really only thought of myself as straight. Completely straight. It’s odious to think otherwise,” George said.

“It doesn’t matter what you think or how you identify.

It matters what you do. The virus doesn’t care about your sexual preference only your sexual practices,” Vincent said.

George got angry.

“This is humiliating. I trust you will keep this private! As my physician. I can’t have my life destroyed and ended by this,” George shouted.

“Everything here is discussed confidentially. You know that,” Vincent said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I don’t know how I ended up here. Somehow American medicine will cure me,”

George said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 758

Vincent knew he could do little more than improvise.

There was, at that time, no definitive test to determine HIV infection. Vincent said one was coming out in

March or April 1985.

“HIV?” George asked.

“We don’t know for sure in your case. Don’t jump to conclusions. You are sick right now. But let’s try to get your fever down. And keep your diarrhea and nausea under control,” Vincent said.

The doctor kept quiet about his most dire prognostications, for he saw so many maladies attacking the man, and so few ways to fight them. For George the near term could only bring suffering, degradation, and decline.

The worst agonies brought into the bloodstream by the most intimate acts of pleasure.

Vincent engaged psychology to soothe his patient’s terror. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 759

“Think of your body as something outside of your mind.

I know you have a lot of pain and fever. But try to find peace inside your head, even when you are feeling rotten,”

Vincent advised.

George was too weak and too angry at circumstance, to foster a philosophical attitude towards his own sickness.

He sat in a chair, in the doctor’s office, listening to counsel from an expert whose words were verified by diplomas and titles, whose thoughts carried the weight of proven scientific verities when none yet existed for AIDS.

“Who can muster that courage and willpower?” George asked. He awaited the ruling on his own existence, pleading for lenience.

“We all can. We have to,” Vincent said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 760

Vincent sat at his desk, and behind him, through the glass of an unshaded window, afternoon sun rushed in, emitting a halo in back of the doctor, putting his face in shadow, rendering him prophetic and godlike, emitting light and wisdom.

George squinted, discomforted, and covered his eyes.

Vincent pulled the blinds down. The room and its contents were dimmed: the silver stethoscope, the blue latex gloves, the paper shrouded examination table, the porcelain sink and its stack of paper towels.

Losing light, George lost acuity. He drifted away in mind, weakened by his travails, in need of a nap. He was tired. And it was time to go, home.

Vincent wrote up several prescriptions and handed them to George. He twirled his pencil and changed his mind.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 761

“On second thought…I don’t need you to take these to the pharmacy. I’ll call them in and have them delivered to your townhouse,” Vincent said.

“I can’t eat. I can’t drive. I have to shit or throw up every hour. When I drink water or tea, it hurts my throat. I just want to sleep,” George said.

“Start taking these medications,” Vincent said.

“When they start this test for H.I.V. and if I have it, what then?” George asked.

“I don’t know. What is the worst scenario? Death.

Prepare yourself for it. You have to. We don’t have any medical recourse to fight this. A cure simply does not exist,” Vincent said.

“H.I.V.” George said, introducing himself to his himself.

“I will do whatever I can to help,” Vincent added.

“You know me and you know my family. They are my biggest concern. H.I.V. cannot come out of my mouth or yours,” George said, reputation protection foremost.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 762

He thought those inglorious acronyms, H.I.V. would destroy his reputation. And render him an irredeemable, eternally damned moral outlaw. He feared for his life, of course, but also for his family’s reputation and the

Gilmore name. In the long run loomed damnation and opprobrium for him, his wife and children.

After the exam he went back to his townhome on Orange

Grove Avenue. He waited alone, for blood test results, waited in fear and isolation, passed time, watched television, laid on his couch. And he went, at moments throughout the day, to look out of the window at the world, for distraction and solace.

Outside the townhouse, in the far-off distance, the

San Gabriel Mountains, immovable and eternal, lorded over.

They would outlive all humanity.

Near sunset, when Pasadena was washed in honeyed light, the people walked their dogs, the dogs barked and chased after squirrels, the children rode bikes and life was normal for everyone else. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 763

All around him were life stories, good and bad, a processional of sidewalk archetypes. And for those who were young and blessed, many fine days ahead. These actors played onward to points unknown. Nobody who passed by, turned to George looking out his window, an invisible spectator.

And how he looked out, enviously, at the free and the uncondemned. And how he looked up at the pink and white magnolia trees, Magnolia grandiflora, flowering and fragrant; extravagant, intoxicating, alive.

He was going away and they were not.

At night, troubled sleep, Santa Ana winds, sirens, fire trucks, police cars, rattling windows. And through the walls the sounds of strangers, radios and televisions, arguments and crying babies.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 764

His interminable suffering, the inability to eat, to rest, or recover, all of it, tore into him, a violent destruction of his physical health. He was pulled inexorably into terminal illness, his better mind and better body an evolving catastrophe, alive, for now, but fainter and feebler.

An Admission

They sat in the kitchen at dinner, Edna and the boys.

“You had best fortify yourselves for the calamities ahead,” Edna said.

They half listened. She persisted.

“Up until now life was pleasant and easy for you two,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 765

She removed a baking tray full of tater-tots out of the oven.

“What do you mean?” Ed asked as she placed the potatoes on a trivet and the boys’ fingers went at them.

She sat down.

“I was thrust into a few tragedies at a young age. I lost my mother, then my sister. You two know that. The time to start worrying about illness and death is when you are young and healthy,” she said.

“I’m not worried. I can handle it. I’m young. Why are you talking so morbidly? You are depressing me,” Ed asked.

“Prepare yourself. That’s all. Appreciate what you have. But remember it can all be swept away fast. God is a sadist,” she said.

Her ominous warnings mystified Rory. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 766

“I just want to eat dinner, he said.

“Ok. I’ll be cheery,” she said.

She held up her green and yellow cup.

“Villeroy and Boch’s Geranium. This is cheerful,” she said before drinking her tea.

“We’re boys. We don’t care,” Rory said.

“Excuse me. I got homework,” Ed said.

He took his dirty plate up to the sink and got out of the room.

“Do you remember what you told me a few weeks ago about your father after you went up to his townhouse?” she asked.

Rory picked at the tater tots. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 767

“Yeah,” he said.

“Do you swear it was the truth? she asked.

“It was,” he said.

“You saw him in a woman’s nightgown? And there was a man in the apartment with him?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m trying to eat,” he answered.

“That’s all I wanted to know. Finish your dinner,” she said.

“A kid can go crazy when nobody believes him,” Rory said.

She caressed his face.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 768

“Mom, why did you ask me that again?” Rory asked.

“Too much energy shutting out the truth. Open the door, let it escape,” Edna said.

Acceptance

Ed got his letter of acceptance from USC. He would enter as a freshman in August 1985, Class of 1989.

He was ecstatic about leaving home and living in a dorm near the campus. He was modeling his life path after his dad. This was another step in that already charted direction.

There had been no doubt about him getting into USC.

Dad went there and had given generously to the school. Ed was a legacy.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 769

After the letter came, on a late Friday afternoon,

Edna took Rory and Ed out Stottlemyer’s Deli for an early dinner celebration.

The deli on Colorado Boulevard was an old favorite of the family.

Sandwiches were named after celebrities.

Ed had a “John Wayne”, roast beef, Swiss cheese and mayo on Jewish rye. Rory ordered a “Bonnie & Clyde”, a turkey, roast beef, cheddar, and tomato sandwich on an onion roll. Edna had the “Mrs. Onassis”, an odd combination of sardines, Swiss cheese and lettuce on Armenian bread.

The boys drank chocolate milk shakes. Edna drank Tab with ice and a lemon wedge.

“I wish Dad were here,” Ed said.

“I’m sure he wishes he were too. I bet he will be thrilled about USC. Did you call him yet?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 770

“I left a kind of crazy excited happy message on his answering machine. Haven’t heard back. I hope I didn’t sound like an overexcited buffoon,” Ed said.

“When he sees your face in person it will be joyous for both of you,” Edna said.

“Wasn’t George sick when he got back from Boston?”

Rory asked Edna.

“Dad,” Ed corrected.

“Yes, your father was not feeling well. But he went to see Dr.Yue. And I hope he’s better,” Edna said.

“He is tough. He’s dad! He’s not going to let a little cold get him down. USC graduate played ball for them,

Ronald Reagan’s right hand man, legend in the San Gabriel

Valley, respected by the people who matter in this world.

He’s the best. I’m sure he’s stoked about me going to USC!

I have to ask him about his connections at Tau Kappa

Epsilon,” Ed said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 771

Eager to get up and go on Saturday morning, Ed biked up to George’s townhouse. He carried his acceptance letter in his hand and knocked on the front door. Then he used his key to let himself into the townhouse.

“Dad, are you up? It’s me Ed. I have some wonderful news to share,” he said. He sniffed the air. It smelled bad, stuffy and fecal. As he had in prior times he stood in the hall.

“Dad?” he called, again.

He walked into the bedroom. He found his father awake but unwell. He lay there, fetal, emaciated, weak, in a soaked white t-shirt and blue pajama bottoms.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Ed asked.

“Very bad flu. Your probably need to leave. Thank you for the message son. You’ll enjoy USC. Best years of your life. They were to me,” George said. And he coughed and spit out flem.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 772

“What can I do for you? Should Mom know? Who’s taking care of you? You need someone,” Ed said.

His father lay there, limp.

“My throat is sore. I vomited a lot,” he said.

“I can hear it,” Ed said.

“Bring me some water before you go,” George said.

Ed went into the kitchen. He came back with a glass and set it down on the side table. “Hand it to me please,”

George said.

“I’m sorry Dad but Mom has to know. You’re still married. You need help,” Ed said as his father grasped the glass with two hands.

“OK. You know best,” George said.

“I’m leaving now. I plan to return,” Ed said.

Then he rushed out, unnerved and anxious, astonished at the condition of his father.

Edna hosed the fountain and filled it up. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 773

Ed came back from George and walked into the backyard.

She looked at him.

“Not another strange tale from up there. What is it?” she said.

“Mom he is really sick. I don’t think he should be left alone. I think he needs to go the hospital. I have never ever seen him like this,” Ed said.

She turned the hose off and looped it around its’ holder. “I thought he looked horrible when he came back from Boston. What did he say?” she asked.

“He was weak. His voice was hoarse. He looked truly ill. Like someone almost….” Ed stopped. He looked at Edna, and she looked at him, and between them was acknowledgement.

“Go in and wash your hands good. And let’s go back with the car and get him an ambulance if that is necessary,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 774

Her decisiveness startled him.

“You agree? I thought I would be standing here arguing. Thank you. This is the right move,” Ed said.

Now Edna and Ed arrived at George’s.

He was asleep, back in the bedroom, door ajar.

“This smell!” Edna said, holding her nose from a skunky smell of unflushed toilet, vomit, and urine. The windows were shut, the drapes drawn, the odors omnipresent.

Edna walked into his bedroom.

“George wake up. We have to get you help,” she said.

She pulled up a shade and opened a window.

“I’m calling 9-1-1. He’s going to Huntington. This is appalling,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 775

She wrapped a Kleenex around a phone receiver and dialed for help.

After calling 9-1-1, she walked around the neglected townhouse, her husband’s premises. She looked upon it all with pity, like a stranger.

“Does he even have Lysol?” Edna asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t come here to spray,” Ed said.

“It’s a goddamn bachelor pad. Nothing to clean with.

Hellish,” she said.

She saw a box of matches on the counter. She lit one to smoke out the air.

There had been days and nights of illness, desperate and lonely hours, drawn out agony, suffering absorbed into the furniture, rugs and drapes.

As she waited for the paramedics, she opened the front door to air out the rooms. “I wish he had a fan. I’d plug it in right here,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 776

Two women and a man walked in with their bags. A wheeled gurney parked outside. She led them into the bedroom and stayed out of their way giving them room to maneuver.

He was carried out onto a folding stretcher by two female paramedics.

“His fever is 104, he’s very dehydrated,” one paramedic said to Edna.

George, hooked up to an IV, was taken to the ambulance on the street. She stood on the stoop and watched him loaded in. She went back inside into the bedroom. She put his wallet into her purse. She rifled through his closet, grabbed some shirts and trousers. And in a mahogany highboy pulled out a drawer of socks and underwear. She packed like a wife sending her husband away on business.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 777

She pulled the comforter off the bed, rolled it up and stacked it on a chair. There was blood on the bedsheets, and she pulled those off the mattress and pushed them onto the floor.

“I’m not washing this. Someone else can. Let me act rich for once and hire help,” she said.

In the midst of her frenzy, organizing, packing, and gathering up, she stopped cold, in futility, hit by the preposterousness of her panic.

“He’s sick, going into the hospital. He won’t wear any of this. What the hell am I doing? It’s the end. He is isn’t going on another trip,” she said, and sat down on the bare mattress.

“What do you mean?” Ed asked.

“It’s the end,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 778

She wanted to cry, but her feelings for the man did not elicit tears.

There was no break from the flood bad events. First

Epsom now George. There was no respite, no relief.

She stood back up took her sleeve to dry her eyes. Ed watched her. She wondered how her weakness might affect him. She needed to pull herself together. Even if George were sick, Ed was on his way, in the fall, to college. This was a critical time for her son.

She had to be a role model. Not self-pitying.

“My eyes are sensitive. Some of this is hay fever. All the winds and the dust and the pollen. It makes my eyes water,” she said implausibly.

“Let’s get out of here and go to the hospital,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 779

Ed, carrying clothes for normal times, followed her out of the dark rooms back into the sunlight.

He locked the door. His mother stood behind him. He turned and she put her arms around him. They had not tradition of affection, that was Rory’s, but now, in this hour of crisis, she leaned on him.

“You did a fine thing to rescue your father. You showed leadership and maturity. Sometimes the young know best,” she said.

“I never thought I’d see him so weak. Last night he was my hero. This morning I saw another man,” he said.

They walked together to the car.

“I’m relieved that he will finally be getting treatment,” Edna said.

Report from the Front Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 780

Vincent remembered his wife’s violent and disgusted reaction when he first spoke about AIDS. He would not repeat offending her.

He was reluctant to bring up that illness again, in conversation, in relation to what was likely happening to

George Gilmore, an intimate, unfolding tragedy.

After dusk they both sat beside the pool. She had business documents on her lap. She made notations, she marked up, she signed. And then her husband spoke, and she took off her glasses and listened. He said that George had a particularly virulent form of skin cancer.

“Probably from all his outdoor activity. Tennis, sunbathing, biking, hiking, all the sports Southern

California offers. He took advantage of it all,” she said, attributing his illness to a privileged geographical location. I wonder if Edna knows?” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 781

“I think she is aware of something,” he said.

“What should I say? If you know she will assume I know,” Norma said.

“I wouldn’t talk about it with her. I promised him I would be discreet,” he said.

“Discreet? Skin cancer is not something shameful,” she said.

“It is if it’s not skin cancer,” he said.

“What? It’s something worse?” she asked.

“I can’t go into it. He’s sick. He has a condition that may get worse. It’s more than melanoma,” he said.

“I see him every few weeks. I go into his office. I talk to him on the phone. How can I avoid talking about it to him, to Edna, and the children. This is something I need to know about,” she said.

“You won’t want to know,” he said.

“What? You are keeping me ignorant? How does that help? Just be on the level and say it,” she said.

“He might have the human immunodeficiency virus. Next month they’re coming out with a test but for now we have to just guess that’s what it is,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 782

She looked at Vincent, her denial hardened.

“He’s a real man, a sportsman. My heart goes out to him. He is also a wonderful father and husband. Rotten to strike him so young. He’s barely had time to enjoy the re- election of President Reagan and our nation’s prosperity and good fortune,” she said.

She went back to her work. Vincent got up and went into the pool, and dove under the water, and swam in a crawl along the white lights until he reached the end when he came up for air.

Three weeks after Vincent and Norma’s pool talk,

George had lost some 20 pounds. He now weighed 145.

He was still hospitalized, his vomiting was under control, it had somewhat lessened.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 783

But on his shrunken, bony face were numerous, purple kidney bean sized sores over his forehead and along his upper eyelids. His facial disfigurement was egregious.

The skin bumps and grotesque, numerous, small eruptions of various, bleeding lesions destroyed his face, vandalizing his handsomeness.

He had vision problems: blinding light flashes that came on when he opened his eyes.

His optical maladies came from skin lesions subcutaneously growing as cancers under his forehead, around his eyes.

He was given high doses of Ibuprofen and anti-nausea drugs. These somewhat lessened the severity of his terminal illness. But he was prostate, in bed, treated by doctors and nurses administering treatments whose efficacy was mostly placebo.

They took more blood. More tests were made. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 784

They revealed new tribulations, with a new name:

Kaposi Sarcoma, a rare skin cancer normally striking a very old person, not a 45-year-old man.

There was no treatment for Kaposi Sarcoma, and its arrival brought in an invasion of even more abdominal pain, diarrhea, and blackened, bloody stools caused by those same metastasizing lesions that traveled down through George’s abdomen and intestines.

All these ills afflicting him, torturing him, destroying him, slowly and quickly, were happening now, inside one of the top medical facilities in the United

States, to a man with money, position, and the means to get the best health care wealth could secure.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 785

He was, for the first time in his life, powerless and helpless. He was left to fate, enduring pain, day and night. His body was convulsed in agony, headaches, fevers, aches, hallucinations, nausea, and cramps. And he continued to waste away, emptying and expelling. He could not digest solid food. He could barely swallow liquids. He was kept alive intravenously, shot up with needles, fed medications.

He was handled, rolled over, stripped down, sanitized, washed, wiped and dried like raw poultry in a kitchen.

At various times throughout the day, his body was raised 45 degrees by electric mattress. And put back down by gloved hands on bedside button, robotically.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 786

And always, unceasingly, the television was up there, on the wall bracket, on the highest volume. All day commercials, game shows, evening news, Dallas, Dynasty and

Knots Landing. A parade of faces, forever smiling and laughing; performers in perfect make-up, active, young and beautiful; speeding along in sports cars, drinking Sprite, washing their hair in herbal shampoo. There were many stories on television but they were all the same story: the good ones handsome, the bad ones ugly, the young ones saved, the villains killed, the righteous triumphant.

Like the land of TV, George had always dwelled in illusions, indulging until they turned fatal.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 787

Tragedy in Lush Surroundings

Dr. Vincent Yue, licensed, trained, experienced, deliberative; wrestled and struggled.

How, he wondered, could all his medical education, training, and experience become so futile and so useless?

He had gone through 15 years of schooling: undergraduate, medical and residency. And ten years in practice.

Neither he, nor his profession was prepared to administer acute critical care for an incurable disease of opportunistic infections.

The epidemic out there, that only hit strangers, had stricken his friend. Like George, Vincent had a very new sensation of helplessness.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 788

He had never spoken the words, there is nothing I can do. But he never quit, always attempted to intervene and treat. And his character and ethics clamped him to duty. He worked diligently to care for George, but his medicine was improvised and the enemy overwhelming.

He had some less courageous colleagues who told him they would not care for anyone with what some called GRID

(Gay Related Immune Deficiency).

“They behaved immorally, and they got what they deserved,” one doctor told him.

At the hospital fear of contamination was everywhere.

There were new precautions in place with breathing masks, bodily fluids, needles and disposal, cleanup and handling of patients. Huntington had a privately adhered to policy that any pregnant nurse was not allowed to care for AIDS patients.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 789

On George’s clinical files, next to his name, there was a big red dot. The red mark was AIDS. Janitors, nurses, doctors and all hospital personnel were alerted. His blood was feared and handled like radioactive waste. Anyone who came near him was cautious.

Yet there still was no verifying test for AIDS, only the outward markers of the illness.

Vincent had empathy, he had courage. He understood that a certain population was now the pariah, the untouchable. He looked back in history, to wartime, and thought of the imaginary enemies made up out of others.

He thought of when Japanese Americans were sent to internment camps, and the silent acceptance of that injustice. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 790

He remembered his aunt and uncle, left behind in

Guangdong, 1951, both suspected Nationalists, beaten and killed by rabid Communists with rocks and sticks. Their offense was their relatives who left China for Hong Kong.

The stricken ones of AIDS were accused by popular opinion, sentenced to death by silence, and apathy. Until the screams of protestors forced the world to take notice.

President Reagan himself could not utter the word

“AIDS.”

These terminally ill people were the new enemy. They were undermining family, sexual morality, and manhood. To ignore them was considered virtuous by some. By treating their existence with silence, normal Americans wished away the virus, sending it back to hell where it came from.

In the midst of this epidemic, swept into the storm, unwittingly, were the Yue’s and the Gilmores.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 791

Two American families now intertwined in something quite monstrous in a setting truly glorious, embraced by the San Gabriel Mountains, bathed in sunshine. They were educated in fine schools, resided in elegant homes, earned wealth in lucrative industries. They were blessed with good fortune, mobility, luxury; swimming pools, hiking trails, cultural institutions, art, music, books, historic properties.

But AIDS tore through two enviable families. They were now embroiled in a tragedy in lush surroundings.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 792

To protect George from the ravages of hate and ostracization, Vincent embarked upon a type of tender secrecy, within a program of care and ministration. He never uttered the word AIDS.

Vincent had recommended that George be released from hospital and sent home for care. There was nothing more to do at Huntington. Vincent told Edna that George needed round-the-clock palliative care best administered by family.

George’s prior cruelty did not kill Edna’s compassion.

She offered herself, venturing back into her marital vows, as a helping, caring wife. She was needed now, an irony the disease brought home to her.

She was ignorant about this illness, not fearful, but naïve. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 793

She thought Vincent had medications that would make

George better, make him gain weight, remove his sores, restore his energy, vitality and facial restoration. He would walk, work and eat again. She was unaware that her husband’s prognosis was terminal, that her efforts would not triumph, that he would die with or without her care.

The terms of suffering were dictated by the illness.

Hired on assignment as savior, she was refreshed by a morose joy in his return. It gave her days meaningful duty.

There was an echo in her mind that called out the cries of the dead in her life who perished too fast in silence: her mother, her sister and her father. Saving George could atone for these lapses.

She envisioned him recuperating in his old office, now the Chinese Room, in a rented hospital bed placed in front of the French Doors, opened to the fountain and the lavender, thyme, jasmine, their floral and herbal scents caressing the bedridden, healing through aroma.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 794

George in the Chinese Room

Now it was nearly March and George came back for the final time. All the days he had left would be spent within the Chinese Room. His future was here and nowhere else.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 795

The rains of winter ceased, the last drops had fallen on Ash Wednesday and the mordantly hot days of gray smog and deoxygenated stillness settled in.

George returned to the room where he had once kept his secret plans behind locked door in locked drawer. Now he was spread out on the rented metal bed on wheels, packed up in mummified blankets, propped up by pillows, serviced by a rotating intrusion of wife and sons with water, books, medicines, fresh linens, and towels. Lysol, Clorox, Comet and Windex stood guard on either side of a blue glass tabletop Buddha.

He was on sedatives to help him sleep and to numb the pain. At times, throughout the day, he awoke to say he wanted to sleep.

His mind began to fade. He lost his sense of time.

Sometimes he regretted sleeping when the sun was out. And it made him angry, angry for losing another day of wakefulness.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 796

“If you see I’m sleeping all day, wake me up!” he said.

“If you’re resting why would I wake you?” Edna said.

“Because I’m living the last days of my life! I need to have some sentient hours of daylight. I just doze off and miss everything, the birds, the children, The Young and the Restless,” he said.

“You’ve never cared about any of those things. Why do you want to start now?” she asked.

“I have to start sometime. Who knows how long I will be alive!” he said.

She turned on “The Young and the Restless.”

“There’s Jack Abbott. Have you heard he and Nikki are having a forbidden romance?” Edna asked sarcastically.

“Ah, turn it off. I don’t care,” he said. He closed his eyes.

“Should I close the drapes? Too bright?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. She pulled them together. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 797

He lay there asleep, seemingly at her mercy, but truly, and tragically, at the beckoning of the unrelenting infection. And Edna could not deter or force the surrender of the injurious, calamitous, killer without mercy. There was the man, laid out all day and all night in a steel bed on wheels; sickness, suffering, ugliness, pain, a life near death; such misery and sadness in a joyous and riotous

Chinese styled room of grace, color, elegance, fantasy and whimsy.

She turned off the red and green 18th C. tea canister lamps painted with Chinese peasant farmers and harvester lanterns.

In the middle of the day the room was dark.

George snored.

Edna left and went to take a shower.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 798

Livid

Norma was livid. She held a $20 parking violations ticket from the City of West Hollywood.

“Flores Street. I can only guess who lives there,” she said to herself.

Lesley came home. She walked into the house, down the long, white, marble hall, where, at the very end, her mother stood, silently, with an envelope, blocking the staircase, trapping Lesley, in confrontation.

“Something wrong I see,” Lesley said, dropping her backpack on the floor.

“Who lives on Flores St? It better not be whom I had forbidden you to see,” Norma said, her face red, her hands clutching the ticket, her long nails digging in.

Lesley was not intimidated. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 799

“Yes, Uncle Tony. Your first cousin,” Lesley said.

Norma threw the ticket up in the air. It glided down to the marble floor intact.

“Just toss my rules away? And do what you want? Do you know exactly what I think of him?” Norma asked.

“Tell me so I can fear and despise him!” Lesley said.

Norma’s face was a bitter contortion of mockery.

“He is a corrupt, fast, loose, immoral man, headed for disaster. It will end badly for that arrogant fag! AIDS! He won’t be young and handsome when God gets through with him!

I’ve been around men like that. And I know what they do.

I’m not so innocent as you imagine. You forget I’ve sold properties in West Hollywood and Silver Lake. Heed my words girl!” Norma said.

“Can I use the bathroom?” Lesley asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 800

She tried to move her around her mother, but Norma stood in the way.

“I got a parking ticket! That was God’s punishment. I got off lightly. I saw Tony for maybe less than an hour. We listened to music and we talked. He’s a cool guy, not a stereotype, not your image of a queen. And I hate to tell you, he is also a minority like us,” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 801

“Stereotype! Minority! We are minorities because of our Chinese ancestors. We aren’t his kind of minority. He’s put himself into another category of minority only the devil recognizes. Our family has always been honorable. You won’t find one like him in our entire family tree. In our zupu, the lineage of all the men, every single generation, is set down in a handwritten book. You won’t find a man over 30 without children or a wife. Going back hundreds of years. Tony will not even have an entry! They will omit him out of shame, erased!” Norma said.

“Then your traditions are cruel and inhuman! You don’t throw out a family member because he is gay! You love and cherish him. You only care about your image, what people think! That isn’t family, that isn’t love! This is America,

God Damned 1985 America,” Lesley said.

They both stood boiling, unyielding. Lesley waited for a slap.

But she got an ultimatum instead.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 802

“You are not to drive to West Hollywood. You already got a parking ticket. You will pay the $20 fine. If I hear any more about West Hollywood or anything else connected to that disgusting place, I will take your car and your allowance away. Do not drive for two weeks! You are on punishment. You betrayed me by seeing him. You showed deep loyalty to a shallow fool,” Norma said.

“Yes. You are the boss. You are the queen. I betrayed you, the moral majority of Pasadena,” Lesley said.

“You better quit your sarcasm. I think having no car will do you good. You need exercise badly, ride your bike,”

Norma said.

“Can I get by? I need to use the bathroom. And then

I’m going to eat a bag of Oreos,” Lesley said.

Norma turned her back to her and stomped upstairs.

Lesley went to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 803

A few days later Lesley was at the Gilmore Home having a restorative snack. Calm, laughing, relaxing, it was good to be away from her mother and with a real family, The

Gilmores.

She ate Oreos without guilt and drank cold glasses of milk with Edna. Every gulp was wonderful, every bite ambrosial, luscious and satiating.

“Can I have another?” Lesley asked.

“I didn’t put them on the plate to look at!” Edna said.

The talk was all about Norma. Edna advised and Lesley listened.

“She has a temper. I know it and so do you. Just let it pass. She thinks she knows best,” Edna said.

“Easy to say, you don’t live with her,” Lesley said.

Edna grasped her hand, held it and smiled with reassurance. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 804

“You forget not long ago I was her target. My crime was decorating my library too well,” Edna said.

“How do you even stay friends with her? Is it a crime to say I hate her?” Lesley said.

“You don’t hate her. She has her old school ways. You know what they are. You deal with it. You will be out of the house soon enough. You can set up your own agenda in life,” Edna said.

“I wish I had a mother like you. Everyone adores you and this is why. Your heart is so big. You don’t judge or condemn,” Lesley said.

“I’m not universally adored. Maybe because I’ve been beaten down by bullies, I understand persecution,” Edna said.

“How is he doing?” Lesley asked, referring to George.

Edna stood up, cleared the table and took the plates to the sink.

“My bully?” Edna asked.

George called out from his room.

“I’ll be right there,” Edna said, wiping her wet hands with a dish towel. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 805

“Should I go in and say hi?” Lesley asked.

“No. That’s very thoughtful of you but he’s not receiving visitors,” Edna said.

Rory walked into the kitchen.

“He’s sick and he looks ugly,” Rory said.

“Enough!” Edna said.

“He has these sores on his face. He mostly sleeps all day. He looks like a monster. I mean he is,” Rory said.

“Enough Rory! Have compassion! And keep your opinions to yourself,” Edna said.

“Ok. I’m embarrassed,” Lesley said.

“Edna!” George called from his bed.

“I have to go in there. I need to ask a favor. One

Sunday can you take Rory to the beach?” Edna asked.

“Sure. It would be a pleasure. But I’m grounded this week. Maybe next week if she lets me,” Lesley said.

“I’m not inconveniencing you?” Edna asked.

“No. I have some ideas where to go,” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 806

Edna took her purse out. She opened her wallet and handed Lesley $100.

“You are a very responsible, thoughtful, compassionate girl. Go to Santa Monica, maybe Will Rogers Beach, and have a nice lunch with Rory. It will mean so much to him. I fear for him staying in this sick house with George,” Edna said.

“I do need the money to pay for my parking ticket. I have to wait another week to use my car. I was grounded you know. I hope my mother allows it,” Lesley said.

“Tell her it’s an errand of mercy,” Edna said.

“You are helping me more,” Lesley said.

After she left Edna, Lesley rode her bike up to

Colorado Blvd, into that district of old, dilapidated buildings and empty storefronts. She stopped near Holly

Street next to a park with a bandshell.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 807

She walked her bike over to a pay phone on the corner.

She called Tony to ask if he’d like to meet up on a Sunday in Santa Monica.

He said yes.

A Visitor

It was March 25, 1985, the 57th Annual Academy Awards.

The TV was on. George was in his rented hospital bed. He didn’t want to watch.

“Turn it off,” he said to Edna.

She did.

“What else?” she asked.

“What else is there?” he asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 808

She left.

He had been back in the house for a nearly a month, confined to the Chinese Room, his old office. This room was once his: exclusive, private, reserved. Now it was his sickroom.

Slowly, fatalistically, he came to understand it as his last stop on Earth.

Dependency was his condition. He relied on his wife for food and care, cleaning and medications; to walk and get out of bed; to step out into the garden. When he shit in his pants, she cleaned him up. This was their life.

Once upon a time, seated at his desk, where his hospital bed now stood, he commanded a business. He wrote checks, he ran the show. Now, bedridden, he lay on this spot and pleaded.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 809

He was a cauldron of moods: depressed, distracted, short-tempered; his words were bitingly mean, sometimes remorsefully apologetic. At the end of his life, he now dangled, between kindness and hostility.

She came in that Academy Awards night with a bowl of mixed nuts and put it on a table near his bed. She pulled the drapes wide open, opened the patio doors, in rushed the garden breeze, cool and herbal.

She took some nuts in her hand and sat in a chair. “It would be nice to watch the Oscars. Don’t you think?” she said.

“I’m sorry. I see the directors, the actors, the screenwriters all of them, collecting their awards. And it reminds me of what I might have been. It’s too late now. If

I sold a screenplay now, I would die before the movie was made,” he said from his pillow.

Edna listened. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 810

She folded a face towel and placed it alongside his pillow so she could wipe his drooling. His hands rested, folded, outside the blanket, deliberating, fingers tapping in rhythms of thought.

“I look very ugly. It’s a blessing to lose my eyesight. I won’t have to see my reflection in the mirror.

My old office used to be so dark and gloomy. You made it cheerful. Now it’s your room. I’m a prisoner confined in your joyous place,” he said.

She listened. She didn’t speak. She cleaned the flat surfaces with a feather duster. She smiled to herself, hearing his words, wondering if they were real, or pandering.

“I once kept all my secrets locked up in this room.

Now I’m exposed. Even the Empress looking down on me disapproves. Edna, tell me, what are you doing taking care of me? What is it for? Tell me,” he said.

“I’m fighting for your life,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 811

“Who asked you to?” he asked.

“I took a vow,” she said.

“You didn’t see this coming,” he said.

“All my tribulations come unannounced. But I have purpose. I don't care if I am happy or sad. I'm needed," she said.

He waved his hand in the air dismissingly.

“That’s not my wife speaking. You sound like a stupid servant,” he said. His sharp tone invoked the old times when he easily provoked, but now his insults were drained of animosity, just the ramblings of a dying man.

“Why don’t you close your eyes? And stop talking? I think I’ll go out into the kitchen and watch the awards there,” she said.

She left the room just as there was a knock at the front door.

An unexpected visitor. Edna let him inside. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 812

George awoke.

Sitting in a chair, across from him, was a young, clean-shaven, blond-haired man. He wore a wheat-colored crew neck sweater, khakis and docksiders. He smiled goofily and amicably.

“You were sleeping so I didn’t say nothing,” he said.

“Anything. You mean anything. Who are you?” George said.

There was a lag in George’s perception somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, a groggy bewilderment.

“Who are you?” George asked, again.

“You know me. It thought you would know my name. Theo

Kidd. Your wife let me in,” he said.

Edna walked into the room. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 813

“What can I get you to drink?” she asked.

“Some water would be nice. Thank you,” he said.

She nodded and left.

George looked at his surprise visitor. He was so polite and nice looking, neat and proper. He had a clear complexion and sweet eyes. Was he real?

“Why are you here?” George asked.

Edna walked back in. She handed a glass of water to the young man. “Thank you,” he said.

“I heard through the grapevine you were sick. I came down from Santa Barbara to visit my grandparents in

Silverlake. You were on the way. Here I am,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 814

“I have skin cancer. That’s all. Take my advice and use plenty of sunscreen. Don’t be a fool like me,” George said.

“I’m sorry. I forgot your name,” Edna said.

“Theodore ma’am. But, actually, everyone calls me The

Kid. My name is Theodore Kidd. But you know Theo is my nickname so it just became The Kid. Call me Theo,” he said, overexplaining in juvenile cheeriness.

He got up and opened a paper bag. He took out a gift- wrapped box with blue paper and a bright blue bow. He handed it to George.

“This is from President and Mrs. Reagan. They send their best to you!” he said.

“President and Mrs. Reagan? Are you on staff?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 815

“Sure am. Up at the ranch. Mrs. Reagan has me working in the stables. I feed the horses, groom them, and then clean up the horseshit. Please excuse my language Mrs.

Gilmore,” he said.

“I’ve heard worse. Please go on. I’m stunned. What illustrious employers you have,” she said.

“They’re wonderful. They say I’m the perfect young

Republican. Mrs. Reagan even picked out and paid for my clothes. She insisted. I have an office job too. I put on a dress shirt, pressed khakis, red necktie. And I go to meetings and take notes with all the guys who come to the ranch and work with the President. I’m very happy. I make

$450 a week,” he said.

“You just landed in luck,” Edna said.

“And I never got to college. Kind of wandered around

California. Taken in by strangers. And now look at me,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 816

George unwrapped the present. It was a clear glass

Waterford bowl filled with a bag of multi-colored jellybeans. The glass was crystal, cut, ornate.

“Imagine the President and First Lady taking time out of directing and acting in world events to send a gift of jellybeans to us. So very kind,” Edna said.

“They’re really great people. Like the parents I never had. They turned my life around with this job,” he said.

“How about girls? Are you dating any?” George asked, pointedly.

“I have a girlfriend, Julie Meese. She works in Bank of America. Grew up in Montecito. She’s really pretty.

Blonde like me. Mrs. Reagan loves her. We’ll probably get married next year,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 817

“Does he remind you of someone? A professional athlete who plays for the Rams?” George asked Edna.

“Pat Haden, the Rams quarterback,” Edna said.

“I’m doomed for life to be compared with Pat Haden.

Even Mrs. Reagan calls me Number 11,” he said.

“I’m sure they’re delighted. You are a handsome guy, polite and kind. A dear for bringing this. What a wonderful gesture,” Edna said.

“It’s like a gin and tonic to have you come here. I don’t know how we know each other,” George said.

Theo looked at Edna and smiled.

“I have to do some laundry, so I’ll leave you two alone,” Edna said as she departed.

When Edna was safely gone, Theo spoke softly. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 818

“We met in Silverlake a long time ago. I blew you in your car. Then we met again at the Reagan Ranch. You gave me a ride home to LA. We stopped at the beach and went for a nude swim. We fooled around again. It was fun. I will never forget it. It made me realize what it would be like to have a real dad who does fun things with me. My dad was a bum,” Theo said.

George looked at Theo. There was lingering, fading recognition, but the sexual part was gone, banished, forgotten, and what remained was an unfamiliar friend.

“You sound like you really got yourself on track.

Working with the Western White House, planning to marry a nice girl. Did we really do all those nasty things? Now I remember! You were just a kid in a football jersey standing on North Benton Way a few years ago. The next time we met you had been promoted. Now you are an emissary for the

President of the United States. And I lay here, sick and dying, an ugly, creepy, repulsive creature. But look at you!” George said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 819

There was bitterness in that germ of admiration, a painful realization that Theo was the man George could have been, young, promising, lucky, endowed by beauty, sanctified by the powerful.

“You must have some ambition. I mean all the achievements in your young life haven’t just happened by accident. What have you done to secure yourself in such lucrative and privileged circumstances?” George asked.

“I’m as confused as anyone. I’m a dumb play- thing.

Yet everyone meets me and puts me into prestigious jobs.

I’m cleaning horseshit for Nancy Reagan. I guess they just want me to succeed,” he said.

“You just look the part so they cast you into responsibility? How? Are you fucking someone?” George asked.

“Yes. I mean I am not. Only my future wife, Miss Julie

Meese,” Theo said, squeamishly and prudishly.

“I don’t understand,” George said.

“I don’t either,” Theo said, without attempting clarification. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 820

“I guess the best path for success in life is to please people in power. Nothing else works better or faster,” George said.

Edna stood in the door, listening, unnoticed until she spoke up.

“I don’t think that is exactly true. Character counts.

Be truthful, with yourself and others. My advice,” Edna said.

Her admonition concluded this visit and its play acting.

“I should get on. My grandparents are waiting, and the

110 is always a hassle,” he said.

George and Theo shook hands. “I’ll tell the President and the First Lady you send your best,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 821

“Please do. And thank you sincerely for coming here to visit,” she said.

“Bye George. Get better soon!” he said.

She walked him to the front door. “Thank you for having me,” he said.

“Our pleasure,” Edna said.

She watched him as he went out down the path to his brown Delta 88 Oldsmobile Sedan. He waved back to her with a broad smile.

He wasn’t all he seemed. She knew that. But he had an

All-American charisma, and his sport celebrity resemblance had heartened and invigorated them; and he was, after all, a messenger bearing a gift sent by the White House. He retained honor, even in his dubiousness, and he departed in borrowed glory.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 822

Careless Whisper

Lesley and Rory parked along narrow Entrada Drive in

Santa Monica Canyon. In their suits and flip-flops, they walked with beach supplies, down to Pacific Coast Highway and crossed under the pedestrian tunnel, emerging onto a wide stretch of beach along the ocean, into a sandy playground of volleyball, bikes, swimmers, surfers and sunbathers.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 823

They laid out a blanket and put a cooler of drinks and snacks on one end to keep strong sea winds from blowing the set-up away.

The sun went out and in, hiding behind clouds, emerging in brightness.

Lesley stripped down to bikini bottom and halter top.

“Norma calls this my You should be ashamed outfit,” she said.

“Ashamed of what?” Rory asked.

“Don’t you know? I’m fat. I hear it every single day from Norma. I should be ashamed,” she said.

“I’m bad news. That’s what George says,” he said.

“Two winners, no wonder we go together,” she said.

She opened the cooler, took out two Dr. Pepper’s and handed one to Rory. She stood up and surveyed the beach.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 824

“Uncle Tony where are you?” she said.

“Who are you calling?” Rory asked.

“I’m looking for someone I’m not permitted to see.

Uncle Tony is meeting us,” Lesley said.

“Oh. I didn’t know you had an Uncle Tony,” he said.

“He’s actually a part of your family too,” she said.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. Forget it,” she said.

Tony said he would try to make it out to the beach by late afternoon. It was Noon. Lesley laid down, closed her eyes, and listened to the waves, crashing and receding.

Rory ran into the water. She heard him get up and it got her up, and she looked out into the ocean and saw the pale kid with long, red board shorts.

Today, she was his paid guardian. She mothered his moves, watched him swim and frolic in the surf. He looked so happy out there, free.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 825

He took his hand and flicked up water, scattered it, dove under the surface, emerged, fell backward into the sea, came up to dive under again. He went to a crawl, rolled over into a backstroke. He was lithe, and free and untethered to any form; a preposterous swimmer, water crazed, laughing, pretending, playing; free, autistic, comically spastic.

She enjoyed watching his contortions. She considered his oddities and misbehavior somehow reassuring, as if his misfit life permitted hers.

Coming here was a novelty. Lesley hadn’t ever been to the beach with her parents. Her mother disliked the sun.

The beach was public. It’s democratic nudity was anathema to Norma.

Lesley watched Rory and wondered what her mother would say if she could see him in the water.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 826

Once Norma had instructed young Lesley to a tale of ethnic superiority. “White kids do what they want. They disobey and call it freedom. It leads them into trouble.

That’s why we’re better. We do what we’re told,” she said.

It was a warning and a caution to toe the line.

Rory came out of the ocean and ran up to the blanket.

“That was so great. I guess I know how to have fun alone,” he said. All wet, he plopped down on the blanket.

He lay there and stare up at the sky.

“Do you want to dry off?” she asked.

“Nope. I like being wet,” he said.

She watched him. She was amused and chastened. He did what he wanted. He had nobody to answer to, really, not anyone on the level of strictness like Norma.

His loneliness also saddened her. He had no friends.

He was an oddball. His moodiness scared off other kids. And alarmed their parents. His father and brother rejected him.

Only Lesley and his mother had mercy. Was he undisciplined, uncontrollable or both? Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 827

He saw a hot dog vendor peddling along the bike path.

He stood up. “Let’s get that!” he yelled.

“Wait. I need to get change!” she said.

They ran over to buy hot dogs.

He shoved practically the whole dog, mustard, relish and bun, into his mouth. Mustard dripped down his chin. She wiped it off with a napkin.

She was glad she only had to spend one day with him.

They walked back to their towels and blanket and now they waited and were bored. He asked if they should go. And she said she had to wait for Tony.

Hours passed until 4.

Tony came, seemingly out of the sand and the dust, through the fog shrouded air.

“Here he is! Uncle Tony,” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 828

“I’m going in the water. I’ll see you later,” Rory said as he got up and ran into the water, postponing meeting.

Tony, and the scent of Aramis, arrived and stood at the blanket edge. He wore a plaid cotton swimsuit and a turquoise Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, bicep hugging banded sleeves.

He stood, V-shaped and strong, solid legs straddling the cooler.

“So late! I didn’t think you were coming. Have you eaten?” Lesley said.

“I was working. You think this Chinaman takes a day off work? I ate a taco near work,” he said.

“Is your boyfriend in the water?” he asked.

“Rory Gilmore, hardly” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 829

“Gilmore?” he said. He laughed as he took a seat on the blanket, made a pillow towel and stretched out on his back.

“His mother hired me to take him out,” she said.

“Edna? I guess the father never takes an interest so they have to hire a babysitter. George Gilmore is a real winner. I’ll try not to blame the son for the sins of his father, but I’m only human,” he said with a sigh.

“George is sick. Very sick,” she said.

He sat up, took his sunglasses off.

“That?” he asked.

“I think so. He is bedridden at home. Edna takes care of him. It’s very hard. Rory said he has sores all over his face. He was in the hospital for weeks. Lost weight, losing his eyesight,” she said.

Tony stared down in deep despondency. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 830

“I’m sorry to hear. You know he was my friend until he wasn’t. He is not a good man. Selfish and bigoted and pompous and entitled,” he said.

“He’s all that. Look at the boy in the water. He knows all too well,” Lesley said.

“But most men with AIDS are good men. Unlike Gilmore.

They suffer and die and their families disown them. And they are young, full of promise, and AIDS comes along and eats them alive. If there were bad karma this would be just punishment, but I’m afraid the rottenness of the victim is just coincidental,” he said.

“You don’t mean that. You have compassion. You are just being Tony, a witty, bitter, caustic man,” she said.

“You’re correct. I should have compassion for Gilmore.

I should look upon his child with kindness. I should stop being rotten and sarcastic. Gilmore and I were never meant to come together. Jau jyun mou ban, have fate, not destiny,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 831

She laid next to him, observing him, his exhaustion and sadness. She saw, for the first time, his quiet resignation, his wandering eyes, eyes that hardly looked into hers, the dark futility and the ominous hopelessness of life in a time of plague.

“Where have you gone Uncle? You are far away,” Lesley said.

“I’m blue. I’m gloomy. I have sick friends too,” Tony said.

“Have you known many?” she asked.

“Michael from Abilene died last week. He was 28. His devout parents didn’t even fly in for his funeral. There was Steven, Cary, Ryan, Bruce, Damon, Charlie, Chris, Ron,

Nathan, Winston, Ted, Ryan, Beck, and Bill. All friends of mine who passed. Nobody older than 35,” he said.

“Do you take precautions? I’m sure you do,” Lesley said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 832

“I’ve been out for almost 10 years. Do you think I could protect myself completely from something I just heard about three years ago?” he asked.

He had no energy for discussion. He had come to the beach to escape pain.

“Let me just lay down here and close my eyes. Sunday is the day of rest they say,” he said.

They lay next to each other, eyes shut.

“How is The Empress of Pasadena?” he asked.

Lesley laughed.

“She forbids me to see you,” she said.

“I forbid you to NOT see me,” he said.

He sat up and crossed his legs Indian style. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 833

His face lit up in glee. Dishing was energizing.

“Now you are back in form,” she said.

“She was a naughty girl back in Hong Kong. She took her top off at the Broadway Theatre on Argyle Street in

Mong Kok, Christmas 1962. I was there. I was only 12. I saw her. I promised to never tell anyone. Now I have. Kept my mouth shut for 23 years. Now Norma is a self-appointed moral authority. The rector of the parish,” he said.

“When you become a parent you also get to call yourself a saint,” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 834

“She used to be fun. So much fun! She used to make out with your dad on Ho Man Tin, a dead-end street. They took beers in the car and they fooled around. She used to light firecrackers after their lovemaking. She’d throw them into the wooden shanties to terrify the dwellers. She was a mean girl. I think a polite word is bitch. But she had fun. She gave fun too,” he said.

“Uncle please. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I can’t imagine Norma as a party girl. She still pays my bills. I’m going to work for her next year,” she said.

“No college?” he asked.

“My grades suck. She said I needed to earn money. If I want to go to art school, I have to pay my own tuition and

I don’t have $8,000 a year for tuition,” Lesley said.

“Come on down! Price is right! Come and live with me!

Lucky you. You can finally escape Norma. You will inherit my condo in West Hollywood,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 835

In his morbid thoughts and notarized documents, he had considered and prepared for the growing possibility of his death. Lesley was written into his will.

“You wrote a will?” she asked.

“Of course. When you see death all around, you don’t expect to live long,” he said, matter-of-factly.

Rory ran out of the water, through the sand, kicking it up as he pounded into it. He came to the blanket drenched, soaked, dripping, shivering. His skin all goose bumps.

“My friend Rory Gilmore,” Lesley said.

“Ah, Gilmore. Son of George. What an honor to meet you young man. You look quite a bit like your father,” Tony said.

“I do? I guess that’s a compliment. How do you know my dad?” Rory asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 836

“We were very good friends. He owned the building in

Chinatown where I had my first salon,” Tony said.

Lesley gave Tony a stern look. He understood.

“How is your Dad?” Tony asked.

“Not well. Very sick,” Rory said.

“I’m sorry son. What is the illness?” Tony asked.

“They say it’s skin cancer. He is covered with these ugly warts. He lost weight. Really, it’s bad. Very bad,”

Rory said.

“Oh my. Please give him my regards,” Tony said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 837

“He is in our house in a hospital bed. That’s what they tell me. He sleeps in his old office which my mom decorated. It’s all Chinese and he doesn’t leave it. He gave up his townhouse. I still see him, sometimes,” Rory said, not realizing the stark strangeness of his estrangement. As he spoke, Rory’s alienation became intolerable for Tony. It broke his heart.

He lost it, seeing the child in front of his eyes, cut out from George brutally, coldly, without feeling.

Tony thought of his old monstrous friend suffering.

But the pain that cried out the most was the pain his family was enduring. He started to cry on the beach towel, he put his face down to dab the tears away, the remaining saltwater stung his eyes, enhancing the weeping.

“We all reside in the valley of death,” he said.

Lesley rubbed her uncle’s shoulder.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 838

Lesley noticed a small, purple colored, oblong shaped spot near Tony’s left ear lobe. She asked him what that was.

He asked what was what.

She pointed to a purple mark on his neck, perhaps the size a breath mint. She took her finger, dabbing it, rubbing it, lightly, hoping to erase it. It was still there, a marker of something ominous atop the skin, a tiny, visible omen imprinted upon his smooth, dark neck.

She went into her backpack and pulled out a small compact with a mirror. She opened it and held it up for

Tony to see.

“I don’t see it. But when I get home, I’ll look at it.

I hope this isn’t the only thing I remember from our day at the beach,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I think I scared you.

I said something careless. I’m sure it’s nothing,” Lesley said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 839

That word, careless, set him into song.

With a brief, elegiac a cappella he sang:

“To the heart and mind

Ignorance is kind

There's no comfort in the truth

Pain is all you'll find”6

A caliginous hour, moody and uncertain, transpired after six. At the end of the day all were older and sadder.

As he sang, he brought the cold fog in, the sun left the sky. The gray shroud laid along the shore and enveloped all in opaque mist.

Bodies walked out of the water, as the beach emptied out. The air chilled, towels came over shoulders, heads went into sweaters.

6 By George Michael, co-written by Andrew Ridgeley (credited to Wham! featuring George Michael in the

US), released by Epic in the UK, Japan, and other countries; and by Columbia in North America, 1984. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 840

And the ones on the sand shook the sand off their blankets.

“Get ready,” Lesley said to Rory.

She was quite ready to flee from an indescribable gloom. She could not quite encompass the heaviness that beset her. She needed to get out.

Rory shook Tony’s hand.

“It was nice meeting you. I think you somehow know me already. How that happened I will never know. But you seem like a good guy,” Rory said.

“I am a good guy. I do my best. Some in my family don’t think so. But all I can do is keep at it. Say hello to your mom and dad and give them my best. If I prayed, I would pray for your father. But I don’t think God hears a gay man’s prayers,” Tony said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 841

Rory protested.

“Yes, he will! God doesn’t care if you are gay or straight, white or Oriental. He loves everyone. Don’t forget that! He loves everyone on this Earth!” Rory said.

“Good-bye. You are a wonderful man. My handsome, loving, successful uncle,” Lesley said.

“Ok. Enough patronizing. You aren’t selling a house,” he said as he patted her head.

Lesley had looked forward to spending that afternoon at the beach, a short reunion with Tony. She left with a premonition of loss.

The sun was now below the sea, and a large patch of penumbra shaded the beach. Lesley and Rory moved slowly on the sand. She looked back, anticipating a wave at Tony. Yet he had already disappeared.

“I wonder if I will see him again,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 842

They went down into the underground pedestrian tunnel that ran under the Pacific Coast Highway. And they emerged on the other side, walked up West Channel Road and to the parked car.

Calling Out

George lost his eyesight to AIDS-related

Cytomegalovirus Retinitis

Throughout June and early July, he lay in bed. A plum sized tumor protruded from his forehead, above his left eye. His face was covered in blotches and sores, too numerous to count, eruptions of red blisters, from his hairline down to his neck, continuing over his chest and stomach, down to his legs, back, and genitals, nearly complete dermatological destruction.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 843

In the last, late state of AIDS, there was no hospital, no effective medicine, just painkillers and palliative treatments. He swallowed knock-out tranquilizers, anti-nausea drugs, and took water thickener for his dysphagia. But he could not eat. He was skeletal and emaciated, a fragment of a man.

In sleep, he called out endlessly, helplessly, “Mama!

Mama! Mama!”

His mother was long gone. His pleas went unanswered, for the dead never help the dying.

Edna did hear him.

Ignored when he was healthy, she stayed at his side throughout his illness. She would sit and watch, take his hand, plump up his pillow, preventing him from falling too deeply into the feathers, forestalling suffocation. She nursed him without knowledge, with instinct, perhaps love. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 844

The weeks before Independence Day he needed the most care, for now he was debilitated and powerless, and she alone kept him alive.

As he cried out, she was tempted to awaken him. But she never did. She agonized, unsure, tortured by his torments. To rip him from a hopeful dream into a waking nightmare was unthinkable.

The boys reacted in their own ways.

Ed stayed out of the room. He was packing for college, or hanging out with friends, or just shooting baskets on the driveway. He relied on plausibility, pragmatism, the what can I do anyway line.

When George was crying out, Rory would sometimes wander in, curious.

The estranged child was the most concerned. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 845

“Why is he crying out? Can we do anything?” Rory asked.

“Just let him alone. He is so medicated he doesn’t know what he’s saying. I know it’s hard to watch, to see a man dying, my husband, your father. But this is the hour that we must be strongest. He knows he’s loved,” she said.

“Is he?” Rory asked.

His question was so without menace, entirely candid, she had to answer it.

“He is. No matter what he did there are people who love him,” she said.

“Who loves him?” Rory persisted.

“They’ll come out eventually,” she said.

“I think Tony loved him,” Rory said.

“Who is Tony?” she asked.

“Never mind. Lesley knows him,” he said.

“Get Ed. Tell him to come inside the house. He should clean up, take a shower, eat dinner. Is he still playing basketball?” she asked.

Rory went out to fetch his brother. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 846

Edna heard Ed come into the house, talking to his brother. She knew the eldest would not wander into room with the deathbed.

Throughout the illness, Ed came through his father’s room only in brusque, concentrated errands: to bring in mail or look through business correspondence. He had empathy for the practical, for that which he could control, and his father’s maladies were beyond remediation. Tonight, once again, he had no reason to come in.

It was dinner time for the well ones.

Edna walked out of the Chinese Room, and partially closed the door to muffle George’s screams. She washed her hands and face in the bathroom, then into her bedroom to change into a fresh white blouse, and into the kitchen, where she opened a bottle of Merlot, poured a glass for herself, and, exhausted, sat down to eat delivered pizza with her boys. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 847

After they were done the boys cleaned up. It was still light outside, a few days past summer solstice.

George awoke. Edna came around.

He had enough of his old sourness in him to half- jokingly taunt Edna.

“Aren’t you sick of me?” he asked.

“I’m only sick of the smell. Let me get a hot washcloth and some liquid soap,” she said.

She came back in with a bucket and towels and soap, to clean up his body, to wipe down his ass, to empty out his urine jars. She wasn’t fazed by it, it was like caring for her babies again.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 848

“Your head is warm,” she said, feeling his forehead.

She went out to the bathroom, washed her hands, and returned with one of her ingenious contraptions: refrigerated damp wash cloths. She put one on his face. He cooed in delight.

“This is nice. Thank you,” he said. His gratitude was like a foreign language he had just mastered in the last few months.

Her days were the never-ending job of keeping him alive, pushing him along into another day, the entirety of her life, her full and complete purpose.

When, she wondered, was this trial going to end?

She went without sleep. Sometimes she didn’t eat. She drank tea and ate saltine crackers, like a sick acolyte joined in diet and spirit with her ill mate.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 849

By July the weather turned very hot, high 90s, low

100s. But she couldn’t rely on air conditioning. Windows were necessarily open to expel sickroom odors. An industrial floor fan pushed the broiling hot air around.

Box fans were clamped onto other windows throughout the house blowing out. The noise of many fans was like white noise, sleep inducing, the whirring calming, rhythmic, sedating.

In the Chinese Room, near the sickbed, the French doors were wide open for the Angel of Death, bird song or both.

George was not overheated in the hot room. He had poor circulation. His bony fingers pulled the sheet up to his chin; under the sheet, was he, withering and teetering, to extinction.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 850

The burning days cooled into torpid nights, when the aromas of the garden ventured into the Chinese Room, dancing around the hospital bed, wandering, flirtatious flowers of jasmine, roses, lavender, rosemary, wisteria, gardenia, tuberose and lime. They enveloped the dying man, all to no effect.

At the still intact Epsom shrine, agarwood incense burned beside his photo and a bowl of oranges.

In these last nights, Ed and Rory came in to say to their father goodnight and see you tomorrow in a simulation of normality. Ed now understood it as duty to come in and say these tender words as if every night might be the last night. Finality demanded attention.

Edna was in and out, day and night, cleaning, serving, dispensing. Her chores distracted, powered by nervous fuel.

Sometimes blind George would open his murky, cloudy eyes and say something witty or diabolical.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 851

Very late along the fatal road, at midnight, as she collected discarded tissues from the floor, they talked.

“I can’t see you now,” he said.

“Did you ever?” she asked.

“It will be paradise when I’m gone,” he said.

“You think so?” she asked.

“My death will free you,” he said.

“For what? Widowhood?” she asked.

She puffed up his pillow, and lifted his head higher, gently folding his top sheet under his hands.

“What will God say when he meets this rotten man? If my family knows some of who I am, surely God knows more.

What will my legacy on Earth be? Everything I lived for here gone to hell. And I was the author of my own story of destruction,” he said.

“Think of us. Not your legacy. You think you are so high you will be granted an audience with him?” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 852

He was in his own mind, unhearing.

“I had plans for something beyond this. I never knew how to get there. I might beat this! And then we can go to

Hong Kong. Travel with Vincent and Norma, or even Nancy and

Ronny,” he said.

“You make no sense,” she said. But he had already fallen asleep.

She closed the French doors for the night. Which woke him up again.

“Our boy graduated from high school. Didn’t he?”

“Yes, last month. Ed is going to USC in the fall,” she said.

“When is July 4th?” he asked.

“Today is July 4th. I need to rest. Good night George,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 853

Fourth of July

In a few, fitful hours she was nearly asleep in her bedroom, door open, listening. She heard nothing. But still she couldn’t fall entirely into sleep.

Unrested and restless, she got up. She walked back into the Chinese Room, dim in the de-saturated dawn, moments before the rising sun, before the surrender of night to daylight, quiet.

She looked at the hospital bed. He was not in it.

Yet there he stood, at the French doors, both arms on the walker.

She went quickly to steady him.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To see the garden,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 854

“See it?” she asked the blind man.

“Walk in it. Smell it,” he said.

“Let me take you. Carefully. Hold on,” she said, guiding him.

She unlocked the doors and opened them to the cool air. They went out, with timid steps, onto the brick path.

“What do I smell?” he asked.

“The Bauhinia. A lovely, sweet smelling tree. Purple, pink and lavender petals. Did you know it was a gift from

Vincent and Norma?” she said.

She reached to pinch a petal and held it up to his nose.

He wobbled a bit.

“Hold onto the walker!” she said.

He clenched it. And he steadied himself.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 855

She watched him closely, clasping his arm while she bent down to nab a sprig of rosemary. She also picked bay leaf, lavender and purple thyme, all growing near the rosemary. She put them in her hand, stood up, and waved them next to his face.

He was becalmed and transported, delighted to recognize them.

“Something there…. I smell it. Herbs. I can taste these. I can still smell. I can still hear the garden. I can still touch the flowers, the herbs and the plants. Even blind, I am still alive! Even with only four of my senses!” he said.

“Rosemary! You put that on roasted potatoes!” he said.

“That’s right. I have to cook those again,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 856

She held onto the teetering and wobbly man on walker.

It was too much worry and complication for such an early hour.

“Let’s go back in. It’s chilly out here,” she said.

She guided him back, into the room, over to his bed, sitting him down, turning him into place, supine. She guided his legs under the covers, pulled his arms over the blue blanket to lay them atop in virginal propriety.

Ed came in. He looked at his mother and father together, a strange sight, improbable, yet fitting.

“Good Morning. I’m up to go for a hike with some guys who are also pledging at the same USC frat,” he said.

He was casual, up-beat and earnest, untouched by sadness, though it surrounded him.

“Your father just smelled the garden flowers. He seems happier. Don’t forget to take water if you are hiking.

Where are you going?” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 857

“Eaton Canyon. We want to get there before it gets too hot. Dad, you look happy today,” he said.

“Happy? Compared to what? A dead animal? Did you graduate from high school?” George asked.

Every time George saw Ed he asked him the same question.

“Yes. Of course. Last month,” Ed answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” George asked.

“I meant to,” Ed said.

“I’d like to have come. I was too ugly to be at your graduation. They kept me away. Stay out of the sun! Don’t get skin cancer like your old man!” George said.

“I know. I’ll use sunscreen,” Ed said.

“Yes sunscreen! Bring that to your hike. And water.

Don’t stay out too long. If you need to rest, take a break.

And don’t wander off the trail. Stay with your friends,”

Edna said.

“Yes mom. I plan to do all of it,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 858

She had never been so worried about Ed before. The fragility of the moment was inescapable.

Ed stood for a minute and watched them. Then, with nothing else to say, he said good-bye, walked out and left them alone.

After he left, George went into semi-coma, his breathing got fitful, Edna put the oxygen mask on, his complexion went ashen to purple to blue to reddish, and it seemed, now, he had finally just fallen into that deep, dark well of ending, unable to climb out.

Noise and Light

There was no dinner on that night of July 4th.

Edna skipped it. The boys ate cereal and milk. Norma and Vincent walked down to say hello. The air was full of anticipation for Pasadena’s fireworks and it smelled of other barbecues beyond the high Gilmore hedges. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 859

Edna, Norma and Vincent stood at dusk on the patio next to the fountain. Water gushed out from atop a rough slab of stone and cascaded down into a pool around the structure, a soothing sound. These three drank cold bottled

Heinekens, imbibing and conversing, steps away from George in his hospital bed and oxygen tank.

“I’m going to have to leave soon. I’m on duty tonight at the hospital. I’m sorry,” Vincent said.

“You don’t need to apologize. A doctor goes where he is needed,” Edna said.

“I’m needed here. I’m not self-employed though. The hospital is still my boss,” he said.

“We have it all under control. A paying job comes first,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 860

“I appreciate you coming here, both of you. You could be enjoying the fireworks,” Edna said.

“And leave you here, now, at this time. Never,” Norma said.

Edna looked solemnly at her friend. They were all mourners in waiting.

South Arroyo hummed with motorbikes, revving engines, speeding up the street into the Rose Bowl.

The night was hazy and uneasy, an inescapable celebration trapping the happy and the sad within its hullabaloo. The egregious outdoor gaiety was omnipresent and suffocating, a mockery of the plight transpiring inside the Chinese Room.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 861

Bursts of explosions, fireworks, and unsettling booms went off, chasing out peace and quiet. Amateurs ignited rockets. Everywhere there was sound and light, in Pasadena and Altadena, in La Cañada and La Crescenta and points beyond; through obscure roads, unlit trails, amongst forgotten ranchettes in the hills, in backyards of tract houses, lit up were so many uncountable, disruptive pyrotechnics by poolside.

July 4, 1985 was furiously celebratory, a mad American moment of aggression, destruction and yahoos on wheels; high summer; a season for the furious mobs of joy-seekers to meet up; to get somewhere, go somewhere, go wild.

Police and television station helicopters flew over joyriders in moving vehicles, crowds on foot, hordes, mobs, and packs of people in a frenzy; thousands under the spell of a common dream, pushing ahead into darkness, rushing ahead to fireworks, monitored by law enforcement, broadcast to viewers at home.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 862

To Edna, exhausted and short-tempered, the happiness was blasphemous and unholy. All the laughing, screaming, shouting, littering, trampling, trudging, and invading past

698 Westbridge Place, unsettled her.

Unaware was the outside world to the pained family vigil inside. Behind wood shutters burned emotions and incandescent light.

“Why can’t they all just shut the hell up!” she said.

George drifted in and out of wakefulness, unaware. His visitors walked and paced, sat and stood. Vincent looked at his watch.

“Why don’t you leave already? If you show up 15 minutes too early is that allowable?” Norma asked, annoyed.

“In a bit,” he said, quietly. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 863

“Go sit in the hospital cafeteria and eat a cookie,” she suggested.

She walked over to check on George, peering down at him like a nurse. He wore an oxygen mask, gasping and fighting for each draining, wearying, exhausting breath.

Norma held onto a cold beer in her manicured hand.

She wore a pink cashmere cardigan over a white silk blouse, a cream strand of pearls. Her tan pants were pressed and creased, her hair tied back, her lipstick dark and glossy, her composure reassuring.

Edna observed. Norma had poise, self-control, imperturbability. It was borderline strange. Norma could tiptoe without tears, right up to bedside, observing suffering and dying with stoic aplomb, sipping without dripping, hovering without crying.

Edna watched George suffering, his breaths were now labored. And running out of time. She began to cry. Vincent put his arm on her shoulder.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 864

“He’s semi-conscious. He is very out of it. He isn’t in pain. We sedated him well. This is how it is. We are doing the most good. And we can do no more. If you want, pray,” Vincent said.

“Pray? I prayed for this moment when I was miserable and trapped. Now here’s that rainy day. That rainy day they told me about,” she said, reciting part of a song lyric.

There was no heroic moment.

They could only watch and wait.

Norma turned to Edna.

“Have you eaten?” Norma asked.

“I should have asked you first,” Edna said.

“You have enough to do without cooking,” Norma said.

“I wish I could just go to sleep,” Edna said.

“Why don’t you?” Norma asked.

“The noise. The pyrotechnics. How can I?” Edna asked.

“I have something if you need it,” Vincent said.

“Give her some. Let her rest,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 865

Vincent handed two sleeping pills to Edna. She took them, swallowed them, without water.

“I hope I’m not rude. I want to just lay down for a bit,” she said.

Far in the corner of the garden on the grass under two arching poplar trees, she laid down on a wooden bench with her security blanket.

Norma and Vincent stood by George.

“How long?” Norma asked.

“Hours. I don’t think he will live past morning,”

Vincent answered.

The official fireworks show began, their flashes blew up the sky in bursts of color. Norma looked out to the patio.

“You have it under control. I’ll leave now,” Vincent said.

“If there’s any problem I’ll just call the hospital,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 866

“There won’t be any. This is it I’m afraid,” he said.

“The children. Should I alert them?” she asked.

“Your decision. If they are not in the room it won’t keep him alive,” he said.

The doctor left the dying man. And the children of the dying man slept, as did the wife. The one who remained bedside was Norma Loh.

She sat down next to George. She took his hand into hers and rubbed it gently. He awoke. He wanted to talk. She gently pulled his oxygen mask off. He heaved and struggled to take in breath, to expel words. Yet he still spoke, in agony. She put her face up close to his, as he gargled out blotched and mangled semblances of near words.

“I had thumb plans. Go to the Orient. To see Hong

Kong. My wasted. Life wasted was wasted, life. I won’t live to see how it all turns out,” he said.

Bursts of fireworks exploded. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 867

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Fourth of July. Our national birthday. Land of the

Free,” Norma said.

She inoculated the patient with patriotism.

“Free,” he said.

“Yes, freedom. Our precious gift,” she said.

“Have you heard the brave men,” he asked.

“Brave men?” she asked.

“The brave ones. The ones who made our country. I’m not. Don’t leave,” he begged.

“I’m here. I won’t abandon you, ever,” she said.

“Am I to die on this sacred night? Who am I, a pitiful coward, to die on July 4th?” he said.

“Coward? Never! No man has more courage! You are a fighter for the American way!” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 868

She held his hand tight. She took a cloth and dabbed his forehead. He trembled. She wiped his mouth. He was completely in her care.

“Fireworks are good. We light them on Chinese New

Year,” she said.

“What animal is it this year?” he asked.

“The Ox,” she said.

He opened his mouth, saliva came out. She wiped it away, again.

“I don’t have cancer. I have AIDS. I have AIDS. You know. Your husband knows,” George said.

"You have skin cancer. The sun came down and made you ill. Because you are a true Californian! You lived in the sun. You went horseback riding, you went for hikes, you went swimming at the beach, you played tennis. It's because of wholesome, manly activities that you have skin cancer,”

Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 869

She would not let him die in degradation. His illness had to be honorable. She gave him dignity, an alibi to bring to heaven.

“Look after Edna. Look after Gilmore Properties. I know I can count on you. You must protect my good name too.

You will keep my honor intact. That I know,” George said.

“You have my word. I will protect your name and your honor. You didn’t waste your life. You are a great man.

President and Mrs. Reagan love you. You have a wife, two sons, a company with your family name on it,” Norma said.

“I lied so many times. My sons hate me. My wife hates me,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 870

“No! You are not hated. Don’t think of hate. Think of how you will be remembered. That is more important than how you lived. If I tell the world a lie, ten thousand will spread it as truth. And I promise to spread a truth about you! Think of Christ and those who came after his crucifixion and resurrection who told his story,” she said.

She clenched his hand as if she were branding the truth on the skin of his sore, blistered palm. She promised salvation, the redemption he craved.

“Thank you, my beloved friend. Let me now rest,” he said.

“I won’t put the mask back on,” she said. She put one arm under his pillow and took her other arm and guided it around him, cradling his head, like a mother and child. She could lay so close to him, intimately because he had nearly no breath.

He gasped. A quiver, a jolt. Life out, death in, the last, of him.

She nudged him but he didn’t move. His eyes receded up into death’s gaze. He let out a gasp. And then there was silence. She closed his eyelids to foster eternal sleep. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 871

She sat there, guarding his departure, waiting for nothing. His wife and sons were asleep. Only Norma stayed awake with the dead.

Audible

Edna was not asleep, but just outside, out of view, in the garden, audibly present in her husband’s room. Over the rush of the water fountain she heard the deathbed conversation, until the fountain on a timer stopped pumping and George died.

Edna sat on the bench, alone, out in the purple smoke, wrapped in her blue shawl, silent and morose, sedated and listless, a newborn widow, a witness, not a wife.

She stood up. And walked slowly into the Chinese Room.

Her husband was gone, her friend was by his side.

“I will stay here until dawn if you need me to. He is at rest. He is at peace,” Norma said.

Edna summoned stoicism. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 872

There was betrayal in the new morning, a dawning realization that Norma had usurped Edna.

“There is that horrible smell,” Edna said as she walked into the room.

“I know. Let me light incense,” Norma said.

She walked over to the extant altar of oranges photographs and incense still paid tribute to Epsom. Now there was fresh death, a new purpose for the old memorial.

Norma lit an agarwood stick and waved it across the room.

Edna sat down on the sofa. “He’ll have to lay here until morning. The funeral home can take him away,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 873

Norma sat down next to Edna.

“When I was 13 my father took me up beyond Tsuen Wan, into a forest, along a rocky stream. There were watermills where they ground up the agarwood trees to make incense. We saw them grind it. We bought a pack of agar sticks. We had come up to see Tai Mo Shan, the highest peak in Hong Kong.

We had a picnic lunch near Shing Mun, the reservoir. We sat along the turquoise water. Just us. I think it was the only time he took me anywhere for recreation. He was always working, just working, always. I forgot about that day until now,” Norma said.

“A sacred memory,” Edna said.

“If the dead come back alive, in memory or dreams, they are still here,” Norma said.

“Are you hungry?” Norma asked.

“I don’t know,” Edna said. She stood back up, looked out to her garden.

“Why don’t you go home? Let me be. You’ve done it all,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 874

“Are you sure?” Norma asked.

“Yes, you’ve done so much more than I could even hope for,” Edna said.

Norma came over to hug. Edna pulled away.

The Memorial Service

George was gone and cremated. What legacy he left, the distinguished tale of his life, would be told at a small service, very early on a Saturday morning, at Oneonta

Congressional Church, July 13th, 1985.

The mourners included Ginger and her husband, Sunkist

CFO Gilbert Nordquist, and Harriet and Edgar Stevenson of the First Sierra Madre Bank. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 875

Harriet and Edgar were prominent congregants at

Oneonta. She had arranged the memorial and worked with the minster to set up the event. The Stevenson Family had made possible the complete re-construction of the building in

1954, and they were held in the highest regard by the spiritual community, for they had the most exalted attribute: wealth.

The church occupied a spacious, landscaped, four-acre campus at the corner of Garfield Avenue and Oak Street.

Thick trunked trees with muscular branches surrounded the building. Its architecture, angled and stripped down, bespoke a confident, mid-century American Christianity, a self-assured time of civic concern and progressive thinking.

Edna and the boys came at 7am, first to arrive. They stood in an anteroom outside the main chapel.

A free booklet, by and about the church, lay on a table near the entrance. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 876

Edna picked it up and read about Oneonta, its cherishing of intellectual and spiritual freedom, and the

“voluntary association of Christians to carry on the Cause of Christ through work and worship in the spirit of love.”

Since her Boston upbringing, under the tutelage of her atheist father, she had always recoiled from Christianity.

It was oppressive, magical, backward, stupid, something the old ladies who rode the bus believed in. Yet today she felt protected by it. It had meaning and profundity. And especially, on this day, at her husband’s funeral, the depiction of Oneonta was appealing, its mystical purposes were aligned with enlightenment, freedom, choice, love and self-actualization, ideals Edna yearned for but had never quite achieved.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 877

She stood, with her sons, alone, in the long, brick paved chapel hall, antiseptic and reverent, reflective and dignified, smelling of Pine-Sol; walled by glass windows and sheer drapes, tall plants and floor lamps. A line of chairs, like soldiers, went straight backed along the window wall. The artificiality of the interior contrasted to the courtyard garden of grass and trees just beyond the windows. Inside the church men invented reality and ritual.

Outside squirrels ran around aimlessly ignorant of the afterlife.

They waited in the unfamiliar church hall for someone to lead them into the sanctuary. Edna brushed Rory’s hair and pulled Ed’s jacket collar up, grooming them, fixing them, for public viewing.

There was exhausted relief after George’s death. He was no longer alive to suffer in pain or inflict pain on others. His legacy was affluence and malfeasance. His family was his victim and his beneficiary.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 878

The purpose of the gathering was to make up a swell story about his life, a mimesis, anointing him in God, family, free enterprise, and fatherhood. To present fiction as fact, to endow the sinfully deceased with noble attributes, that was the ceremonial plan.

Harriet came into the hall with her husband trailing.

She wore a dark blue pants suit, matching her husband

Edgar’s dark blue suit. He wore a red silk necktie with little navy embroidered elephants and was sockless in brogues, like a Saturday afternoon executive. These two elders of means were sporty, weekending mourners, ready to tee off under the big cross.

Harriet lorded over Edna and the kids, raising her arms in a folksy benediction.

“Hello family. Welcome to Oneonta. We all are gathered to pay tribute to our fine George. What else can I say? We are heartbroken. But we must speak of his attributes, his character and his love of his family and his faith and his country,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 879

She was matronly, loving, well-meaning, exuding strength. She spoke without irony. But Edna wondered how earnestly. Everyone it seemed was performing, including the closest survivors.

Harriet took Edna’s hand and extended another one to

Rory, and they walked, in a procession, with Ed, into a vast, main sanctuary where seven massive, high arches of

Douglas Fir extended four stories high, beams extended, like fingers of hands bent in prayer.

To Edna the cavernous ceiling looked like an upended ship, the SS Poseidon, a metaphor for her capsized life, drowned under waves of turmoil, bitterness and grief.

They walked up to the pulpit and the lectern, behind which rose a tall, cast stone wall carved with modernistic vines punctuated by sixty-four cross shaped windows.

Through each individual glass the morning light beamed in, splitting into a thousand rays, illuminating the chapel, deified lights sent by the sun of God. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 880

Edna went up to the pulpit and looked down at the rows and the mourners seated in the mahogany pews: Ginger and

Gilbert Nordquist, Norma and Lesley Ann, Theo Kidd (“The

Kid”) and his girlfriend, Julie.

Edna stood in front of the lattice screened chancel.

In front of her was the open Bible and two candles atop a communion table with an inscription: This Do in Remembrance of Me.

A church janitor, pulling a mop and bucket on wheels, turned on the lights and the sound system and then pulled out to hit the restrooms.

Edna was exhausted, impatient, and resolute in her mind to just get it over. She and the children had to listen to others speak with familiarity of a man nobody really knew.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 881

The weather also sapped her: mid-July, summer in the

San Gabriel Valley, 85 at dawn, 100 at noon. Air- conditioners blasting against heavy, overheated heat, oppressive, suffocating, taxing, the struggle to find chill inside the furnace fire.

Edna walked out to a side hall to drink at a water fountain. Her blouse was drenched. She cupped her hands under the spout and splashed cold water on her face.

“Fuck, why did I do that?” she said to herself.

She darted into the bathroom to pat her face. She washed her hands, again, took a paper towel and dried off.

She stared into the mirror at her stark and bare reflection, drained and diminished, no make-up.

She walked back into the chapel where Norma and

Harriet, left aisle and right aisle, acted as directors, guiding the attendees where to sit down. Harriet motioned to let the service commence. Edna sat next to her sons in the front row. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 882

Edna scooted over to Rory. “I’m lucky to have friends who always take over for me. Saves me energy,” she said.

Harriet introduced herself and then spoke a few words about George, comparing him to a tree with roots, branches and fruits that nourished those who partook.

Edgar went up next and spoke of George, the fastest third baseman at USC, as an astute investor, a man who understood the virtues of low taxes, limited government, and enjoyed the pleasures of melted cheese atop patty and bun at Pie n’ Burger. He praised George’s taciturn personality, his discretion, and how he kept achieving great things while maintaining outward modesty, like

President Ronald Reagan.

“George was above all a gentleman. Gentleman George,” he said. He ended with a military salute for the deceased patriot who never served.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 883

Ed, in navy blazer, white shirt, red tie and went up to the podium.

Edna listened and watched, hoping, through today and beyond, Ed would turn out better in life and character than the man he resembled. She pardoned her boy for his accidental genetics, forgave him for his paternal loyalties, regarded him now as Our Mr. Gilmore, the new star of the family, a youth on the cusp of manhood, venturing into a leading role in adulthood without his father.

“My dad was my hero. He was quiet, he was observant, he didn’t shout, he was subdued,” Ed said, voice breaking.

He spoke, and she trembled, then she wept, biting her lip to contain her crying. His profundity was startling, all the more so coming from one so unemotional and taciturn. He believed in his heart his father was right.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 884

“You taught me to use my powers of observation and to persevere. This fall I will go to USC just as you did. You said work hard, study hard, concentrate, bite the bullet, nose to the grindstone. I believe I did all that. And now,

Dad, if you can hear me, I wish you were here. Here to see me walk into my dorm, to meet me for a pancake breakfast on

Sunday, to play catch in the backyard, to go for a bike ride in the Arroyo. Watch me from heaven Dad as I enter a new phase of life. You said character was the essence of a man. And truth was the measure of all of us. You lived up to those ideals. And I will cherish your memory forever,”

Ed said.

At these words Edna fully broke down. She cried because her son’s words were so heartfelt and sincere.

Those were eternal values, they were Edna’s values, they were her children’s, but they were not, George’s.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 885

She cried from pain, knowing the real George Gilmore, his cruelties, his coldness, his sparse soul. Obscene it was to bestow the mightiest of compliments upon him, to enshrine him with unearned accolades, to hold him high for moral teachings. But lies were made for eulogies, and today was no time for truth, just forbearance.

Ed’s spoken words echoed with an inverse reality that

Edna silently refuted.

Truth, character, perseverance.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 886

George had not even persevered. He had given up on his own dreams of screenwriting. He was not truthful. He relished his hatreds, he nourished his most vile monsters.

He worked in secret to divest himself of properties occupied by minorities. He diminished his own holdings and his assets, through the guidance of his bigotries.

Everything he accomplished was done by inherited wealth, a prominent name, political connections. He rode high and traveled far upon the jet streams of elitism, biases and privilege.

He outwardly wore virtue and honor as a costume, dry cleaned and hung in a closet when not seen in public.

And he was a cruel, unloving, sadistic husband who played around with many strangers, got infected, and died.

His illness and death were demonic, but so were his reckless, selfish actions that brought him into a plague and killed him.

Then Edna went up to speak.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 887

She looked out over the guests, and beyond them, to six stained glass windows on the west wall of the nave.

They depicted events in the life of Jesus: his nativity, his boyhood, his crucifixion, his post-mortem birth, his teachings of the Good Shepherd and the Good Samaritan. She looked onto the life of the savior who suffered to bring the word of God, the gospel, to man.

Would she speak like Christ, in truth?

Or would she speak truthlike, in bromides, audience tested for easy digestion?

She chose the latter.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 888

“I am just so very broken apart. I lost my love. I lost my husband. And my children have lost their father,” she said.

There was weeping in the pews.

Edna heard it, but she did not look to see who cried, she just continued.

“Last Saturday, I lost, forever, my life with George.

We were married for twenty years. That is a long time, but not long enough. We are blessed with two sons, Ed and Rory.

Our eldest boy resembles George in many ways, and our youngest is like me,” she said.

Now Ed was inconsolable. Harriet moved down to sit next to him and hold his hand. “Why is he gone? Why?” Ed sobbed.

Rory sat alone. Quietly, silently, blankly, he looked ahead at his mother. He was a part of it all, yet apart.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 889

“He died before I truly knew him, even before he knew himself. Some of you know, many do not, that George dreamed of working as a screenwriter. But he gave up his dreams to focus on the family business. And he succeeded, and built it up, and made it successful. So please pray for him, pray for my family. Love life and love one other. It all ends too soon. Thank you all for coming here, your support is tremendous. That is all I can say,” she said.

And then, head down, she exited and walked swiftly, along the aisle, out of the chapel, into the empty silence of the window-walled long hall and its six identical floor lamps set between six high back chairs. There she took in air. The worst was over.

She stayed out, in the hall, as Norma ascended the pulpit in a mournfully resplendent black silk and linen

Chanel suit with double rows of gold buttons, and black belt with gold buckle. Her lips were stamped hard in dark red gloss. Her face was a mask, powdered and painted. She radiated out.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 890

Edna sat down in a chair outside the chapel, in the anteroom hall, and listened to Norma on loudspeaker.

“How did I, a humble girl from Hong Kong, become a close friend with such a prominent American aristocrat? I think it was fate. George Gilmore was truly a godly man. He always looked out for men. He told me how he would drive to poor neighborhoods, and sometimes he would see a young man walking or standing on a corner. George would stop and help, handing over cash to strangers. What a heart! He would open his wallet to a young man on the street and give him money to eat. To think that a man of his means would go out of his way and drive to the poor places in this city and practice charity. How very Christian and commendable, truly remarkable,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 891

“He also entrusted me, with not that much experience, in the sale of his properties. I listened to his sage advice on the neighborhoods of the Southland, and he spoke so wisely about how he envisioned our city’s future development. He understood our ethnic areas. He had an intuition about the best places to buy and to sell in. He was a keen investor who understood the value of property.

But he was also a human being, with a heart, who loved his wife and children dearly. In many respects he was just like my father, a man who worked hard to put food on the table and ensure his family had more than he had. I don’t have to tell you that Edna is my best friend. We are sisters in our hearts, and anything that happens to her, I feel in my own heart, and today my heart is breaking. God bless her, and her sons, Ed and Rory, and God bless our nation, the United

States of America, the land of freedom, whose blessings we all enjoy. It has been a privilege to have the Gilmore

Family as my dearest friends. And I pledge to you, Edna, Ed and Rory, that I will look after you, as will my husband

Vincent, to see that you are protected and taken care of and loved from here until eternity,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 892

Her grand politicizing words came through the speaker, thick and congealing, oozing into Edna’s ears.

There was too much to absorb. It came over Edna like a tsunami, drowning. What Norma knew, what she did not say, what she said now, it was all lies.

Edna went out to the garden, to the grass, to a thick, old magnolia tree, beyond the loudspeakers. The only sounds were birds and squirrels, and the whir of cars passing by on Garfield Avenue.

Norma paused and looked out into the pews for Edna.

“Edna, my goodness. You have been George’s loyal wife, a loving mother, and the greatest sister I could ask for. I pray for you and your whole family that you may know happiness, peace and solace once again,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 893

The Tree

Beside the gnarly old tree, its trunk marked with bulbous tumors, a historic plaque was set on the ground atop the dirt. It told a story.

Here, in 1910, Dr. Sun Yat-Sen, the first president of modern China, planted a magnolia on this estate owned by

Mayor Charles Boothe. The doctor was here to ask for money from the wealthy mayor to help finance a revolution that would finally overthrow the last dynasty in 1911 and bring forth the Republic of China. South Pasadena was somehow a player in the transformation of China into modernity.

Edna read the plaque and marveled.

“You found Dr. Sun Yat-Sen’s tree?” said a male voice.

Edna turned around.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 894

Vincent stood nearby, in neat linen trousers and white dress shirt. “We are walking in history,” he said.

“I drove past here so many times and never knew about the history of this place. We think we are so smart. But we truly know nothing,” she said.

“It reads as if the mayor were a wonderful, generous man. Mayor Boothe wanted, in reality, in return for raising some $10 million, a 99-year concession to build and operate all the railroads in China, control the central bank, monopolize the money system, and have reign over all the exploiting of minerals, coals and metals in China. One white man in South Pasadena wanted to rule over China,”

Vincent said.

“Everyone has an angle. Nobody exploits you better than a friend,” Edna said.

“Mayor Boothe would have owned the wealth of China.

Does that seem just? He had more than an angle, he had the ambitions of a despot,” Vincent said.

“Wealth corrupts. Nobody knows that more than I do,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 895

“Poverty corrupts too. Where is Norma?” he asked.

“Just finishing her eulogy. I went outside. I needed air but all I found outside was heat and smog. How is it that every Chinese born doctor plants a tree in Pasadena?” she said, teasing him about his gift of the Bauhinia.

“Mine was only a Bauhinia. I think a Magnolia is grander,” he said.

They stood in the gentle shade. It was a moment of repose and calm. Vincent rubbed Edna’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling? I know your mood is understandably sad. But it must feel good to have your friends here, and your boys,” he said.

He came around to look at her directly. “I am sorry.

So very sorry,” he said.

“For what?” she asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 896

“For not curing him, for not making him better, for everything I could not do that one would expect of a doctor. I was powerless. And, so, my dear, here we are. I feel humbled,” he said.

“You have no reason to say sorry. You were the sole man in my life who showed love and care to our family. I will not forget your magnificent heart, ever. How you came and treated George, all the efforts you have made on Rory’s behalf, the poignant and sincere memorial you and Norma brought to my house, you have performed magnificently. I can’t even repay you in love,” she said.

She was unguarded and open-hearted, moist-eyed and tender. Then anger seeped in, darkening her recollection of

George.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 897

“All the lies about him. I knew him completely. I don’t care about eulogies. He destroyed my life in so many ways. He left me feeling unloved and misunderstood. I accepted our marriage, the years without love, or passion.

His phony alibies and his true abandonment. I even made peace with his infidelities, his lies, his devastating illness. He was so cruel, so undeservingly mean to Rory. I loathe him. Is that wrong? Am I evil for saying that?” she said.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

Then the mourners come out of the church and walked out into the courtyard garden: Norma, Lesley, Rory, Ed,

Theo and Julie Kidd, Ginger Nordquist and Harriet

Stevenson. Vincent smiled and stepped away from Edna so she could receive them.

“Under the tree of Sun-Yat-Sen!” Ginger said. Outgoing and boisterous, she could have been attending a tailgate party. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 898

Harriet walked alongside Ginger, digging into the grass with her thick platform heels, punching and ploddingly hustling along to catch up.

“Norma was magnificent. So beautiful what she said about George. Every single word!” Ginger said.

“I was just telling the truth, that’s all,” Norma said.

Norma kissed Vincent, Lesley kissed her father, Rory hugged Edna, Ed kissed his mother, Norma kissed Edna, Edna and Harriet embraced, Edna and Ginger hugged, there was ample ecumenical emotion and affection under the tree planted by the Father of Modern China.

Ginger and Harriet read the historic plaque recounting the tale of Dr. Sun-Yat-Sen’s visit.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 899

“I never knew all this. I wonder if the museum would do some kind of Sun-Yat-Sen tribute. Maybe print up some colorful red mugs with his photo on them! That tree is a wonderful thing. Mayor Boothe must have been quite a hero to the Chinese. Imagine what a great man he was to try and help Dr. Sun-Yat-Sen establish a democratic government in communist China!” Harriet said.

“China wasn’t communist until 1949. It was a republic,” Vincent explained.

“I’m simple minded. I guess I read too much Henry

Ford. History is bunk,” Harriet said.

“All Chinese venerate Dr. Sun. But here we all stand together as Americans, united,” Norma said.

“Well, legally you won’t have an argument from me.

Americans come in every variety of color these days from white to brown to yellow. That’s the law! Whether we like it or not!” Ginger said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 900

“What does that mean?” Lesley asked.

“What does what mean?” Ginger asked.

“Whether we like it or not? You don’t like all the shades of America, Mrs. Nordquist?” Lesley asked.

“Of course, I do! Excuse me I forgot to pee!” Ginger said. She walked back into the church to find a restroom and escape Lesley’s interrogation.

Lesley was furious. She stomped angrily over to a shaded patio. Ed and Rory saw the exchange and came after her.

“Fucking cunt! Did you hear what she said to my mother? Not only my mother, but all of us, all the Asians who live here. Fucking US citizens. That bitch doesn’t know hard work, what my mother and father did to break out of

Hong Kong and come here. How dare she! I ought to rip her red wig off her head!” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 901

And then, unexpectedly, she burst out laughing.

“I just saw myself ripping her wig off and flushing it down the toilet like Neely O’Hara in Valley of the Dolls!

Ha, ha!” she said.

Rory and Ed laughed. They had no idea what Lesley was talking about.

Norma spoke to Theo and Julie, the ideal All-American couple, preppy, sweet, wholesome.

“Down from Santa Barbara for only the day?” she asked.

“Looking for a place to rent. Julie is starting a new job with B of A in Alhambra, so we thought about relocating to the San Gabriel Valley,” Theo said.

“Have you considered buying a house?” Norma asked, subtly soliciting.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 902

“Maybe. I mean it would be a stretch. I don’t know how long my job with President and Mrs. Reagan will last but I suppose I have some good connections. Julie is a corporate executive, so that should count for something,” he said.

He was naïve, appealing, and earnest. Norma appraised them, the blonde couple, the wife with a bank position, the husband who worked for the Reagans. They reigned high in her estimation. Young people who lived now as she once imagined all Americans did when she watched American movies at the Capital Theatre in Kowloon.

“I’m showing an open house today, right here on Milan

Avenue, up the street. You should come by after 2.

Beautiful English estate,” Norma said.

“Whose house are you selling on Milan?” Harriet interjected.

“Doug and Kate Lawrence,” Norma answered. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 903

“Doug and Kate? I know them! Doug is an attorney.

Their daughter Nancy lived in the guest-house,” Harriet said.

“Yes, Nancy and her boy Timmy moved out. Kate and Doug are downsizing, going down to the west coast of Florida for retirement,” Norma said.

“Congratulations on such carriage trade clientele!”

Harriet said.

“What do you mean?” Norma asked.

“It was always restricted. As a Catholic I don’t even think I would have even been qualified to live on Milan!”

Harriet said.

“I’m one of the top ten realtors in Pasadena, if not the entire San Gabriel Valley in sales over the past five years. We have fair housing laws, and discrimination is illegal. And I’m tops in my field. What qualifications do I lack?” Norma asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 904

Ginger came back outside, shaking her wet hands in the air. She entered into their conversation, unaware.

“They have one bathroom in there. One toilet. No towels. I won’t tell you how long I had to wait. You and

Edgar should endow this House of God with more toilets,”

Ginger said.

“Norma is selling Doug and Kate Lawrence’s house on

Milan,” Harriet said.

“No kidding! Doug is a sweetheart. Kate is smart. A bit portly. Wonderful gardener and cook. I think she taught music. Oh, dear we are losing another one from our group,”

Ginger said.

“Pasadena is the last holdout. Pretty soon the dam will break. And the flood will drown us all. All the whites will line up in 2’s like Noah’s Ark and sail up to Idaho,”

Harriet said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 905

“Or Montecito,” Ginger added.

“Ten years ago, everything north of Huntington was solidly white. Now it’s different. The Orientals have moved in and we had better get used to it. They have money, they value education, and they want a piece of the action too. I do welcome them. Their kids are very polite and obedient.

Good students. They take off their shoes when they come inside and step on the carpeting,” Ginger said.

It was a pile on of hate delivered in funny, folksy jabs, yet Norma withstood it, for it had no power over her.

She pitied the ignorant mouths who spoke it. She saw these two rich frumps as ignoramuses, devoid of class, steeped in racial resentment, unaware of their own luck in life.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 906

“I think Mayor Boothe would be proud of you ladies.

You are both what, sixty plus? Almost 75 years ago, fifteen years before you two were born, he invited the future leader and founder of modern China to live in his home and they worked together to remake a country, liberate its peasants, and bring it into the modern era. Maybe it’s time you patriotic, Christian ladies accepted the principle of one nation under God!” Norma said, vanquishing the bigots.

“Our past is your future. I’ll leave it at that,”

Ginger said. She took Harriet’s arm and they walked over to rejoin Edna, leaving Norma alone.

The Overseers

The ministrations of Vincent and Norma continued after

George’s death: care and compassion for Edna and her children.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 907

The twin tragedies that beset Edna, deaths of her father and husband, provoked sympathy and caring, eliciting a continual, daily check up by Vincent and Norma to see how the grieving family was doing.

Norma had George’s legal permission, signed and notarized, to review his accounts, and manage the buildings he owned. In that agreement, she would pay herself a monthly fee from the company. She could not, however, sell or buy property, she was constrained from that. But her financial acumen was key in calming the turbulence that might follow the death of a business owner within his own company. Discreetly, fastidiously, honestly, she undertook the bookkeeping and running of the firm, utilizing her knowledge of real estate and the greater Los Angeles market to assess and steer Gilmore Fine Properties.

Norma closed down the old office at 5757 Wilshire and rented a post office box in Pasadena. She always economized. It was a lifetime habit drilled into her from childhood.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 908

GFP was largely run by salaried Norma. She reviewed rent rolls, met with accountants and attorneys, prospective renters, and hired a third-party concern to manage buildings.

She was tough in negotiating with workmen who thought they could fleece her with plumbing, painting, and electrical work. She was hardly ever fooled. And she fought back, if cornered or bullied, by screaming and threatening.

In looking over the books, she was relieved to know that the company was solid. Most of the apartments were bought years ago and even cheap rents paid for the taxes and upkeep on the majority of the holdings. She was also confident, as George had not been, that there was an upcoming revival in the older parts of Los Angeles, and to hold onto property was the best solution. With George dead,

Gilmore Fine Properties would prosper and grow.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 909

Norma’s most prominent characteristic, to control, was timely. For now, the one who made the rules, who set the terms, who told others what to do, was the woman of the hour. Her interventions in the lives of the Gilmore Family were now critical.

Norma was also sincere in protecting Edna. She had always thought of her as a weaker, vulnerable, innocent soul. Edna had a guardian angel in Norma. In the mode of so much in Edna’s life, passively, mysteriously, timely, Norma came to be.

And Norma was vigilant and guarding, not only for

Gilmore Fine Properties, but for Edna Gilmore, gaining emotional custody over the widow to ensure that she ate, slept, rested, and did all the restorative actions that would keep her healthy.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 910

At night, only to Norma’s home, Edna ventured out to eat and to recuperate. Norma cooked simple food: chicken and rice, sauteed cabbage, shrimp and eggs, homemade congee

“jook” with long grained rice, slivers of scallions, some bits of ginger. She served lukewarm water, and cautioned

Edna not to drink anything with ice.

Norma had scheduled personal time with her bereaved friend and delegated additional tasks to her employees at

Norma Loh Realty. The boss came in later, left earlier, without explanation.

There were a dozen agents in her company. They worked from their homes and went into the field to open houses and solicit business. She saved rent by keeping her office staff small.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 911

Norma’s wealth was quite substantial and growing. Yet she remained parsimonious, dressing in classic investment clothes (Talbots, Lord and Taylor, Brooks Brothers) and conservative jewelry, paid for in cash, never credit. She and Vincent rarely went out. They read books, they cooked at home, their cars and home office tax write offs.

At Christmas, she made bulk purchases of high-end perfumes and scotches for corporate gifts. And a few were kept at home for souvenirs.

Every tax break was utilized, every luxury was itemized.

Her politics were firmly Republican, opposed to government regulation, high taxes, and onerous regulation.

She was the clone of George in her philosophy. This high moment in her life coincided with the new national conservatism that blessed those who lived and thought as she did. She was, understandably, a citadel of self- assurance.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 912

Edna, by contrast, was adrift, a widow in recovery mode, weakened by Epsom’s death in the fire, worn down by

George’s illness and death.

Her once blond hair went entirely gray. Her eyes were dark and sunken. She was thin, hardly ate, stayed around the house in robe and pajamas. Going out to get the mail was her rare time outside.

Her sleep came in broken fractions, in aimless dreams where she lost her way on trains and in strange cities; mazed journeys to somewhere else where she never arrived, lands she traveled with her father and sister, who always went missing in tornadoes, fires and floods.

And every time she awoke, she awoke in anomie.

Paradoxically, the lost woman of dreams was freer in life. She had the means and the freedom but lacked the will.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 913

If only, awake and liberated, she could plot a new direction…..

Post

Ed had moved to a dorm near USC. And stayed away from

Pasadena. On Sunday nights he called his mother. Dutifully, they talked about classes, girls and what he last ate for dinner.

Ed spoke like George, in sparse, terse tones. On the phone his voice was like his father’s.

He was all business, studying business, businesslike.

Any slight inquiry into his emotions irritated him. He recoiled from introspection. She never asked him how he felt. Her mothering was limited to advisories on aspirin, separating colors in the wash, and being careful and alert around Black people. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 914

Surprisingly, he once asked how Rory was doing. She had good news that time. He was getting good grades in math and science. His bi-polar episodes were lessening, he was responding to medications, he ran cross-country, he had a couple of crushes on girls. All signs of improved health.

Ed said he knew Rory would beat his condition and get better. He told Edna to say hi.

After they hung up, she hardly recalled a word.

Ed was OK.

Robotic, pragmatic, logical, he had it all figured out. He was moving along, without problem, to his next destination.

Mom was redundant.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 915

Life at Home

After Labor Day, a couple of months after George died,

Edna revived her home projects.

She had gotten rid of George’s hospital bed and oxygen tank right away. A few weeks later she had thrown out all the bedding, towels, linens, pillows, mattress pad that once touched him.

She cleaned out more reminders of death: the little shrine erected for Epsom was removed. Out went the photographs, bowl of oranges, incense and the red cloth under all of it. She took the framed photos, put them in a box and stored them in a closet.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 916

The room was painted again. It went from assertively bright yellow to non-committal off-white. When the yellow left so did the naivete, the gayness and joyousness. The decorative Chinese Room was less so, but more chastened, it seemed that off-white had calmed it and sobered it up for the real world.

The carpets and upholstery were cleaned. She took down the embroidered drapes and left the windows naked and uncovered. She removed extraneous vases, paperweights, pottery, silk flowers, and throw pillows. She boxed some of the antiques and hauled them into the garage onto steel shelves near the tools, brooms and bikes where proximity to them reduced the expensive collectibles to estate sale items.

There had been too much, and too much of it was suffocating, purchased by a previous Edna who sought emotional fulfillment by shopping for so much chinoiserie.

It was refreshing and unburdening to have their crushing, overcrowded numbers deported.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 917

Edna had collected for therapy. Now she expunged for mental clarity.

Reckoning

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 918

“That one. Don’t get me started. She is fatter than a house. She intends to go to art school. Because she wants to draw cartoons for a living. Can you imagine that? Big

Chinese girl dreams of working at Disney. I tell her to lose weight, to stop eating, to dress like a lady. But the more I scream, the more she rebels. Who will date her? Who will marry her?” Norma asked.

“She’s a marvelous girl. I wish you would give her credit for her good qualities. She is superb with Rory. So kind, so compassionate,” Edna said.

“That may be. I have high standards and I can’t accept my child not aiming high,” Norma said.

They sat at Norma’s kitchen table, picking at lunch: crustless white bread sandwiches, filled with ham, cheese and mayonnaise; macaroni and tomato soup, milk tea, lemon egg tarts.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 919

“I love your food. It reminds me of Boston, the kind of homey comforting food I had growing up,” Edna said, tearing into a tart.

“It’s my Cha Chaan Teng. Tea restaurant. When Vince and I dated in ‘58 or ‘59 we went to Sing Heung Yuen on

Elgin Street. We thought we were very fancy, eating Western food, me in a tight cheongsam, he in a dark jacket and narrow tie. This is my version of what we ate then. Of course, I bought the egg tarts, not homemade. I have a box for you to take home to Rory,” Norma said.

“I think my first date with George was at Chasen’s. He ate chicken pot pie and I had Dover Sole. I hated it,” Edna said.

“The food or the date?” Norma asked.

“Both,” Edna joked.

“Do you swim?” Norma asked.

“Of course. Why?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 920

“Mayor Bogaard called me last week. They’re renovating old Brookside Pool up the street. I said I would donate

$25,000. It’s a wonderful thing. The city will partner with business, they’ll put our names on a plaque and it’s good for the community,” Norma said.

“If I swim, should I contribute?” Edna asked.

“Well if you want to. It’s something I think George might have done,” Norma said.

“You knew George better than me. Perhaps I could give something, not $25,000,” Edna said.

Norma saw tension. “I’m sorry. I had no business saying that,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 921

“You didn’t say anything wrong. Thank you for feeding me. And looking out for me and my family. I didn’t come here only to eat. I wanted to talk,” Edna said.

“Go on,” Norma said, pouring tea into Edna’s cup.

“All the time you knew about George. Didn’t you?” Edna asked.

“Knew? His business? Of course. He entrusted me with the finances, the legalities. I reviewed the entire portfolio, looked at the rent rolls, the profit margins. I took it on as my sacred duty,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 922

“I don’t mean how your familiarized yourself with his company. I mean your knowledge of his personal secrets.

Your cousin Tony. Their relationship. That blow-up at the

Norton Simon. You never told me the truth. And in his business, you have discreetly screened me out too. When he sold off our properties, you earned commission, and I knew nothing. There are many astonishing things you kept from me,” Edna said.

Norma listened calmly.

“Yes, when you represent a seller you are paid commission. Go on,” she said.

Norma was calm, too calm, which incited Edna.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 923

“Why did you keep secrets? You knew about his life long before I did. You stood up in church at his funeral and praised that lying scoundrel like he was an angel. He was a married man with two sons, and a promiscuous homosexual! He died of AIDS! He had no remorse for his duplicity, for hiding his lifestyle. We hardly made love!

But he made love with strangers, including your cousin

Tony. He had a wife and children. You ensnared yourself in his schemes, you capitalized and cleaned up from his corruption," Edna said.

Norma spoke softly, with clarity, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I never bowed. I was discreet. I was proper. I never did anything criminal or illegal. I towed a narrow line,”

Norma said.

“You deceived me. You betrayed me,” Edna said.

“I protected you,” Norma said.

“How?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 924

“I knew a long time ago about your husband and my cousin Tony. I was quite ashamed. I didn’t tell you. Maybe that isn’t the modern thing to do. I am still a traditional woman, raised in the 1940s and 50s, in the British Crown

Colony of Hong Kong. And I couldn’t even imagine what transpired between Tony and George. Call me a prude. But I am not a liar. I was raised to defend family honor over everything else. Not only my family. Your family too,”

Norma said.

“What about my honor? What about our friendship?” Edna asked.

“If I didn’t tell you something it is not the same as a lie,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 925

“You lied to protect your profits. You colluded with him. You protected your commissions. It was all business.

My feelings added up to nothing. You told the world, on the altar at Oneonta, how noble George was when you eulogized him,” Edna said.

“Would I stand at the altar in a church, between the

Bible and the Cross, and tell lies?” Norma asked.

“I think you did,” Edna said.

Norma’s reposeful serenity, and her steely stoicism inflamed Edna. The melt-down was a convulsive summary of everything eating up Edna.

Norma stayed calmly in her chair. She watched Edna get up, pace; thrash her hands around in the air; dramatic, angry, seething, unhinged; ready to storm out.

“Don’t you want your egg tarts? Please take them,”

Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 926

It came off as sarcasm.

"Fuck the egg tarts. You’re full of self- righteousness. You justify lies with your Confucian morality, your ability to justify duplicity by saying it was for a higher purpose. You are a liar. Plain and simple.

You knew things you should have spoken to me about. You speak of saving my family honor, but you sacrificed your own honor by your ongoing mendacity," Edna said.

“That day in the church I was there to protect you, to honor you, to guard your reputation. It’s not my way to shout aloud about family scandal. Would you want a friend who knocked down the foundation of your family?” Norma asked.

“You could have spoken to me on the level, in private, instead of keeping it locked up!” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 927

“I would rather lie about a man’s personal infidelities than kill off his family. What if I had told you everything I knew about George? From the beginning? And it caused the breakup of your marriage? I realized the sordidness with George and Tony on the night of the

Jennifer Jones party. I had pain and anxiety to keep it silent. Vincent and I fought over it. I stopped speaking to

Tony. My own family was broken by your husband’s infidelities. It’s blood on your hands too! I strove mightily to keep your family name clean. To guard and protect you from George’s wrongdoings,” Norma said.

Norma sat like both a judge and defendant in court with Edna as prosecutor.

“Where was the truth you owed me, the truth you stole, the truth you took kept?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 928

“My cousin Tony and I are from the same family. We share the same generational name. He is not only a cousin.

He is a brother to me. We played together, went to cinema, family dinners. I was his first hair cut client. He saw us off when we left Hong Kong. He stood on the runway, next to my mother and father, at Kai Tek, as we walked up the steps of the BOAC plane, crying and waving goodbye to our entire family,” Norma said.

“He’s your family. He deserves your love and understanding,” Edna said.

“You’re ignorant of the burden we live under. Tony was basically raised by my parents. He was an odd boy. He didn’t play sports, he liked girl things. But I never let anyone tease him. I would bash in the faces of the bullies who taunted him,” Norma said.

“He’s odd, as artists are. You should have tried to understand him,” Edna said.

Norma’s expression was mockery. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 929

“He deserves our understanding? What about his gratitude to us? Tony, luckily, came to America, but my parents never. Heartbreaking for me. They were too old, too sick, too tired. Diabetes, heart disease, crippled bones, broken bones, lung cancer. They suffered so! A life of hard work, family, war, famine, the Japanese invasion, the

Communists after that, and chased out of their homes in

China! But glorious, gay Tony came here when Vince paid for his travel. We gave him money to rent his first shop. He never went hungry. We looked over him, protected him. We never asked for anything back. We set up him up as an

American with all the privileges he enjoys! He has no children! He just plays at work, and he is rewarded for doing less than anyone. His sexual disgracefulness is also our disgrace. Do you fathom my grief at what he’s done? He betrayed my family and hurt me terribly,” Norma said.

“Lying destroyed my family. And you are perpetuating it,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 930

“I also lied for years to protect Tony. Letters from my parents asking who he was dating, what girl he was going with, who he intended to marry. I had the onus to shield my parents and my cousin from scandal. I had to lie to keep him in the family! He was on a Green Card. Homosexuality was still illegal in many states in the US, it was certainly illegal in Hong Kong! If he was deported back there, I shudder to think of his fate. You don’t know the years I have spent protecting him from the consequences of who he is! I have every right to be angry. And you are not the only one betrayed!” Norma screamed.

“Only the truth matters. My family lied about everything. I never knew the truth about my mother, her depression, her suicide. I went into exile from them. I fled to California. Rashly and naively I married George

Gilmore. He drove me mad. I shouldn’t have stayed with him,” Edna said.

Throughout the argument Norma sat. Now she stood up.

She walked right into Edna’s space, pointed a finger into her face.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 931

“Try to eat the truth, for dinner. Pay your mortgage, with the truth. Pay your doctor bills, with the truth,”

Norma said.

Edna folded her arms, looked away.

“When your family honor is defamed you risk your wealth, your reputation. You are a pariah! If you have no solid family, then you don’t exist. Nobody is anyone without their family. My name is on my business. What would the world do if they knew the sordid tales of my clan?”

Norma said.

“My honor was only kept intact by your lies!” Edna screamed.

Norma’s voice fell apart. Her accusatory tone went into a plea.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 932

“I saved your life, saved your family, upheld your virtue, by protecting you from your husband’s worst. My

God! I am running Gilmore Fine Properties. Your boys’ inheritance. How childish and spoiled of you to accuse me of harming you!” Norma said.

Norma’s eyes were red and wet. Her forehead perspired.

She had bitten her lower lip. Blood came out, in a line, down her chin.

Wiped out, she wiped away the blood and the sweat. She went soft, she lost it.

She came down, both knees on the floor, and let out a cry, a gasping cry, wheezing and shaking; kneeling. She was there, in front of Edna, begging for compassion and redemption, pleading.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 933

“Try to understand me. What I did was not malicious. I kept the facts to myself for the most ethical reasons,”

Norma said. She wrapped her arms around Edna’s legs, submissive, childlike. She cried into her friend, and cried more, and then Edna reached down and touched Norma’s head, and there was a spark of forgiveness sent through.

Norma got back up on her feet, exhausted from the battle.

“I spoke. You spoke. Now what? Where to?” Edna asked.

Norma dabbed her face with tissue. She pulled her hair back, tucked her shirt into her pants, tamped down the disorder.

“Did you really think I didn’t care about you? We are forever friends, family, I do hope,” Norma said.

Norma picked up a washrag. She rinsed it under the faucet and wiped off the counter. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 934

She took two glasses, filled them up with water and gave one to Edna.

“Warm water. Drink it to cool down,” Norma said.

“Thank you. I’m sorry. I had to speak my mind,” Edna said.

“I’m impressed with you. You gave it good. Let me have it. That’s how you grow stronger,” Norma said, drinking her tepid refreshment.

“I had to learn this bravery well past 40. Too many years of passive, polite, womanly niceness. How you managed

George’s business is a lesson for me too. You are strong.

Tell me. Now what’s happening with Gilmore,” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 935

“He wanted to sell more, especially in the areas with

Hispanics and Blacks. But I fought back. I convinced him not to sell some of his buildings so your children would have them. Did you know I was contacted by a developer last week who wants to buy one on West Washington near

Arlington? He offered two million. George wanted to give it away for half a million three years ago. I knew it would go up in value. I worked quietly to contain the damage, to protect you from his narrow mind. Bottom line. He was not a very smart businessman,” Norma said.

“I didn’t know. I held everything about him in low regard except for his work,” Edna said.

“In May, I spent time with him going over the books.

On more than one occasion he told me ‘Take care of my

Edna.’ My Edna,” Norma said.

“My Edna? He said that?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 936

“Yes, he did. He spoke as if he wanted to make amends for his misdeeds,” Norma said.

“My Edna?” Edna asked.

“Yes, my Edna,” Norma said as she brushed Edna’s hair away from her face, caressing Edna’s face, a smooth, tender, intimate touch.

“My Edna! Imagine that. Maybe the devil had a heart. I never heard it beating. Norma, I think we have gotten our poisons out,” Edna said.

“Timely. Next week I’m going to Hong Kong. This matter between us is settled and I can fly off in peace,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 937

Absence and Reunion

On Halloween night Norma flew off to Hong Kong.

Before she left, she had a bitter argument with

Vincent. They fought about the impending return of Hong

Kong to China in 1997, twelve years from now. He agreed with the handover. She vehemently opposed it.

To Vincent, Hong Kong was always China’s.

“Britain has no right to own a piece of China. You may admire them, you may speak English, you might see yourself as their equal, but they never considered you theirs. Let history move on. China has finally won the Opium War. The

Treaty of Nanking was signed in 1842. Now we will have a new treaty to correct that injustice. They say it will be one country, two systems. China will never allow Hong Kong to decline. The city will become even more prosperous.

That’s what matters. You torture yourself keeping it so close. Let it go,” Vincent said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 938

“I go there with a heavy heart. I truly do. You can’t understand that China will not respect the 50-year-long treaty. They will clamp down and oppress Hong Kong. Gone will be everything dear. Good-bye to the free press, free speech, human rights, the law. All of it matters! Our family and friends, our true homeland, cannot be free under the Reds!” she said.

He was amused at her earnestness. She was riled up and militant. Her emotions and nostalgia were clouding her usual clear-thinking pragmatism. He spoke to restore it.

“I suggest when you are there to do what you do best.

Put on a smile and keep your opinions to yourself. Show them the gorgeous homes in Pasadena. Advertise the good life: swimming pools, palm trees, three Cadillacs in every driveway. Be a sincere phony. You don’t know who is listening, who is making notes. Your future clients may have investments in Shanghai or Beijing. If you want to cry, cry alone. Don’t make a spectacle of freedom and shout hatred of Red China,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 939

“You are really stupid to think I would endanger my business by expressing my politics. Tonight, in our home, before I leave, I’m telling you how I feel. I’m sincere with you, alone. Three Cadillacs! And they have palm trees.

They want large kitchens and many bathrooms,” she said.

“I apologize. Let us depart in peace. Ok?” he said walking over to caress her. She turned away.

“This is the last thing I needed before I travel for

15 hours,” she said.

“But you’ll travel First Class,” he said, kiddingly.

She was unamused.

“Just shut-up Vincent. Don’t give me any more advice.

Let me do my own business without your critical supervision,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 940

She meant it. She was going back to enkindle old connections, to socialize with the elites, to drop her name with people of means. She had a briefcase of color brochures of expensive homes for sale in the San Gabriel

Valley to present to prospective buyers in Hong Kong.

She had not anticipated arguing with her husband.

Earlier that day, after she stopped by Edna’s to say good-bye she had tried to explain, unsuccessfully, the political tragedy awaiting Hong Kong.

“Once those Reds get in this treaty will destroy Hong

Kong. There won’t be any freedom. Good-bye free press, independent judges, fair trials, free speech, civil rights for all. They will kidnap dissenting protesters, writers, critics of the regime. They promise autonomy. But they will strangle baby in the crib. If you have money you vote by leaving. The wealthy ones are moving to Australia, to

Vancouver. And many are ending up here in California. I intend to sell homes to the ones who come here. But my heart is broken, knowing I will profit from the dismemberment of free Hong Kong,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 941

“I abhor colonialism and the oppressive imperialism of

England. They have made a mess around the world. Look at

India, Palestine, the Falkland Islands, Hong Kong. Non- whites have risen up to throw off the yoke of oppression,”

Edna said.

“Dear, I’m non-white. My racial identity doesn’t tell me right from wrong. My own civilized, analytical mind does. There is nothing to compare the situation of the

Palestinians with the Hong Kongers. The Hong Kongers have a home. The Palestinians are homeless. Don’t make that ignorant mistake of taking all the tales of oppression around the world and grouping them together. As an American you enjoy freedom and law guaranteed by our Constitution and Bill of Rights. Would you be happy if you knew there were only 50 years left to live in freedom? Think of the people of Hong Kong when you belittle colonialism. There are some good aspects to it. It was not all bad. I know. I have lived as a subject under British rule,” Norma said.

“Well you sound like Reagan. Waving the flag,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 942

“I do. And I’m proud of it,” Norma said. She retold the story of her family, again, to invoke in Edna the dire consequences of the handover, and to treasure the privileges of these United States.

“My family had fled from the Japanese during World War

II; they had run from the Communists during the Civil War, eluding or absorbing famine, violence, and depression. They came to Hong Kong, battled for food, housing, work, dignity. Their children grew up and looked to golden

America, to another golden promise. In Hong Kong, we were always on the run, striving, struggling, preparing; always heeding the exits, anticipating calamity, expecting the worse. The handover is the worst. Can you understand?”

Norma said.

“Yes. Be well and come home safely,” Edna said, kissing Norma.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 943

Gamble House

After Norma left, Lesley had free time, and nobody monitoring her schedule. Vincent was a light parent, good- natured, inclined to softness with her. She took advantage of his permissiveness, and her mother’s absence, to meet up with Uncle Tony.

They had last been together on the beach. AIDS was everywhere now. Rock Hudson had just died, the world was paralyzed in fear, and Lesley worried about her uncle’s health. She called him up and asked to see him.

He had time. He was going to Lake Avenue in Altadena to get supplies for his salon.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 944

They agreed to meet after his shopping, outside of the

Gamble House, a historic Craftsman home, open to the public, built in 1908 for the family who made a living as

Proctor and Gamble, soap sellers.

Alone along a long driveway, shaded by trees, under the eaves of the distinguished house, she waited, on a brick paved patio, separating herself from the gathered tours awaiting admittance.

The tours came in and out. Then Tony came, out of the shade, into the sun, smiling, and she saw he was quite nearly perfect.

He was in distressed leather jacket, jeans, boots, brown fedora and aviators. He was hardier, tanner, more jacked. That ominous mark on his neck was gone. His face was radiant and glistening, stubbled, like Indiana Jones.

He hugged her, and at once, she was enveloped in love, warmth and Aramis.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 945

“Hi babe. You waiting long?” he asked.

“No hardly. Short walk from home. Uncle T! So good to see you. I was really, I must confess, scared you would be sick. Are you well? Please tell me,” she said.

He laughed, which lightened her up. She laughed along, not meaning it.

“I’m fine. I’m not worried. Your uncle is a top. Don’t ask. When you’re older I’ll explain,” he said.

She noticed a few middle-aged women staring at him, admiring him.

“I think they’re looking at you,” she said.

“Let them. With sunglasses on I can pretend I’m a white man. I never pay attention when women look at me.

They pass by my sights like plants along the freeway,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 946

They walked along the driveway, away from the crowds and the entrance.

As they strolled, he looked at the house, up to the beams and the rafters and redwood shakes; up to the sleeping porches protruding like sentinels, their deep, dark recesses, mysterious and somnolent and redolent. He dreamed up outdoor rooms of long ago naps, girls in white dresses lounging on wicker chairs, fanning themselves.

“Sleeping porches. Pasadena was made for dozing off.

I’m ready to sleep in the smog,” he said.

“Were you worried when Rock Hudson died?” she asked.

“I thought of MacMillan and Wife and felt bad for

Sally. Ha! You do care about me, little Lesley,” he said.

“That day at Will Rogers I thought you were sick,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 947

“That mark on my neck? Benign skin cancer. I got it removed. And what you allude to, let me reassure you. I got the new HIV test. I am negative. I think I am going to stay negative. As one of the only two Chinese tops in West

Hollywood I’m immune,” he said.

They were at the end of the private driveway where the real road began.

“Which way now?” he asked.

“Are you a top? Seriously?” she asked.

“I can’t believe you are so forward. Mostly. Not always. But I practice safe sex now. Love is very, very dull these days, like tasting Beluga caviar with a bandaged tongue. I have less risk of contracting the virus. I might still get it, someday,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 948

They walked along shady Prospect Square past colonial and Mediterranean houses, ivy and hedges, fertilized and weeded schemes of flowers, and trees, estates watered, pampered and groomed, grand houses with swept walkways and armed response signs; gardeners, maids and delivery men, a universe of edged borders of sod and bed, specimen plants, and genetically determined winners.

Here were all the accoutrements of good fortune.

They stopped at a white colonial with rows of symmetrical double hung windows and green shutters, with an enormous green lawn, beds of white roses and lavender, and three blonde children running in and out of a rotating yard sprinkler, laughing and frolicking in the wet, spraying jets of water. Tony and Lesley watched them, and their house, and their life, happy and carefree; joy as only the young know joy: fleeting, sparkling, exhilarating.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 949

“They’re always blonde. Whenever I go to a wealthy place in this city, Pacific Palisades, Malibu, Calabasas, the hair is blonde. Who are those so luckily born blonde?

They have the luckiest numbers in the world,” he said.

They moved past the children and proceeded along the lush estate lined street.

“Nobody who lives here wanders outside. When I came to

California from Hong Kong, I couldn’t believe how quiet and dull it was here,” he said.

“Norma calls it paradise,” Lesley said.

“Forest Lawn,” he said, referencing the cemetery.

“So enough of my philosophical ruminations. Tell me: what are your plans for school?” he asked.

“I’m going to enroll in art school. Study drawing, animation, to try and get future work in the entertainment industry. I want to eventually direct animation features,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 950

“Like me you are also a creative person. Go full throttle and pursue your happiness. Don’t let a toxic, controlling person destroy your dreams,” he said.

The toxic one was unnamed but understood.

“She thinks my future is married to a man, with children, but I don’t think so. I’m not like the other girls. I’m half girl, half boy, half going insane from people who don’t think I can exist as I am,” Lesley said.

He ached to hear her pain, echoed in his own exile from family. He took her in his arms and held her close. A car drove past. And a woman behind the wheel looked and smiled at the young couple in love.

“I think you can guess what I’m saying,” she said softly.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 951

“You very much exist and I very much love you. You have a mountain of love protecting you. You don’t know it but you are going to have a happy life. You will go at it like an American, fucking up and pissing off your folks.

But you will get there Lesley Ann, you will,” he said.

“I’m going to rely on you when she gets back from Hong

Kong and tears into me. She can be vicious, vengeful, cruel. She demands her child behave in her ways. And when I tell her I am a lesbian she will declare war,” she said.

“Let her. All she can do is scream. I think your father will protect you. I will tell her off if she mistreats you. I told you that my home is yours to stay in if you need it. Don’t back down from your destiny,” he said.

“He is a wife pleaser. Just make your mom happy is his favorite expression. His life is catering to her. He’s been trained by his master,” Lesley said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 952

“I think there’s more to him than you know. He is quiet as a lot of Chinese men are. They don’t want conflict. But he loves you and he won’t abandon you. You will always be his little girl. Even in your army jacket,”

Tony said.

“Army jacket? You stop it. You make me laugh when I’m dead serious,” she said punching him the arm.

“You should laugh. It’s all too ridiculous not to,” he said.

They circled back to the Gamble House. It had been sweet for both, fervent and memorable. Together, these two exiles had love and family.

They hugged and kissed again on the brick driveway. He offered her a ride, but she said she wanted to walk for exercise. Then they said good-bye.

Happy and hopeful, boosted by his encouragement, she watched him wave, so long, as he drove away in his yellow

Eldorado convertible down Orange Grove Avenue. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 953

An Errand

Edna planned to leave for Gelson’s Market after 4.

She grabbed her purse, slipped a checkbook and pen inside, and fixed her face in the hall mirror.

She walked out front to pick up the mail. She was rifling through it when she saw him out of the corner of her eye. Tony.

He had come by, unannounced, after his visit with

Lesley. He stood on the sidewalk, carrying a small bag, hesitantly, ten feet away from the house, waiting.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 954

She turned to look and recognized him. How handsome and young he was. A delightful intrusion.

She smiled and he smiled. He stepped forward, extended his hand. And she reached and greeted him, touching, holding, a long grasp.

“You may not remember. I’m Tony, Norma’s cousin. I cut and styled your hair for the Jennifer Jones party, remember?” he said.

“Of course. Are you here to see me? I was on my way to

Gelson’s,” she said.

“I’m so sorry to intrude. I was in the area. I actually came by to offer my condolences. I had no graceful way to do it other than showing up on your doorstep. I would have written you a sympathy card. But my grammar is abysmal. Maybe I should go,” he said.

“Please, come in. Gelson’s can wait,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 955

“Are you sure? Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“Come in. I’m glad you came,” she said.

They went into the hall. He took off his boots. She put the mail on the Parsons table.

He was now inside of George’s home. A once unthinkable proposition. It was strange here, yet familiar. There was that scent of dried eucalyptus. It had once trailed on

George’s clothes into the salon. Tony smelled it again: woody, redolent ghostly.

They went into the Chinese Room. He was taken aback by its theatricality, its aura and its elegance.

“This is really lovely,” he said as he walked into the multicolored, lush dreamscape of dynastic regality. He sunk down into a soft cushion on the mustard colored sofa with bullion fringe, next to the dragon stitched pillow.

“Who was your decorator?” he asked. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 956

“Just me,” Edna said.

“Can I hire you?” he asked.

“Sure. But first may I offer you a water or soda?” she asked.

“I’m dying for wine. I hope I’m not greedy for asking,” he said.

“Of course. Let me grab a bottle. Two glasses,” she said. She went out to the kitchen, leaving him alone to ponder in the sofa, under the watchful eyes of the Consorts of Qianlong.

She returned with a bottle opener and a bottle of

Pinot Noir. She screwed it open and poured two glasses, graciously placing one glass atop a coaster for her guest.

And they sat down together, man and woman, familiar strangers, drinking wine in the late afternoon.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 957

Standing up again she said, “I think I’ll put on some music.” She pulled out a Bill Evans LP, From Left to Right, stacked on a vertical shelf of albums between many other record albums. She placed the disk on the turntable, turned the receiver on, sat back down, very near him, cushions touching.

Playing now was the song, What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life. The poignant sadness of the tune set a mood, an apt, poignant marker of emotion, the piano emulating raindrops and tears, the wine releasing a flood of feelings for both, the title, for both, unanswerable.

She was a light drinker. She moved even closer to him on the sofa. She patted his thigh, with a free touch, affectionate and caring. He took her hand and they held hands and she talked.

A few sips had her saying out loud so many buried things that bubbled right up.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 958

“This was my husband’s office where he kept his secrets. He forbid our son Rory to enter here. George was cruel and capricious. But you knew that,” she said.

“Ah, yes. He was one of a kind,” Tony said with diplomatic reserve.

“I redecorated when George left to go to his townhouse. Wiped this room clean of him. I thought he was gone for good. And then he came back to die,” she said, sipping her wine.

“I had no contact with him by then. I apologize for not coming to see him,” Tony said.

“Were you ever here before he got sick?” she asked.

“No, never. We always met at my salon,” he said, assuredly.

“I am sure you also, in your own way, mourn him,” Edna said.

“I am only sorry for you and your children. I came here for another reason,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 959

Tony reached into his bag. He pulled out a little wrapped red box with a white bow.

“This is something George left at my salon one day, long ago. It was a birthday present for you. We had words.

And he walked out. And he forgot it. And we never talked again. I kept this as a vindictive prize. But why punish and deprive you of your gift?” he asked.

She shook her head in recognition of the unending revelations about the late Mr. Gilmore, still trickling down.

“Another secret to unwrap. A gift to me from my late husband. Delivered by his lover,” she said.

The box came from Boston jeweler Shreve, Crump and

Low. Inside was a bracelet in the shape of a heart, pink diamonds surrounded by a white outline of more diamonds.

She unwrapped it. This gift had no joy. Her weary face surveilled it.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 960

“Here, let me put it on you,” Tony said.

Glum, without excitement, she offered her limp right arm with the enthusiasm of a vaccination. He nursed the bracelet around her wrist.

“It’s very pretty,” Tony said.

“Newbury Street. I would often walk past there. A place I aspired to. He must have ordered it over the telephone, because he was only in Boston one time, to take care of my father’s post-mortem affairs. Thank you for thinking of me,” she said.

“Thank George,” he said.

“That would be too generous. He left my present behind. He wasn’t even thinking of me when he walked out of your place. Who carries a wife’s gift to his boyfriend’s, loses it for seven years and gets thanked? Nobody,” she said.

“I’ll take the thank you then,” he said.

“You should. You are the bearer,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 961

Why Did I Choose You? played instrumentally. A few lines danced inside Edna.

Why did I choose you?

What did I see in you?

I saw the heart you hide so well.

Tony stood up, deliberating, walking into the light near the glass doors. He spoke as he moved, with grace and earnestness. He turned to look at her sitting on the sofa, and she looked back, as if, as if she cared for him.

Captured by gaze, they could not extract, so she spoke words to ease out of it.

“Thank you for coming here and giving me this. I can’t show proper appreciation or gratitude. This little bracelet is heavy, weighted down with too much that isn’t quite real. It came from him. And it carries Boston in it, which is also too real for me. You are nice. I see why George liked you,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 962

“You must think I’m a very nice guy for coming by.

I’m not as nice as you think. I kept it for seven years. I was an angry, broken man. He used to come to my place in

Chinatown and talk about you. He would unload his pain, his guilt, about how he treated you and your sons. I was in love with him. And I didn’t want to know about you or your family. But he was never in love with me. He just wanted me to be that Chinaman in Chinatown. When I left Chinatown, he left me. I let him down. Isn’t that crazy? I must have been mad to care for him. I told you too much. Your wine corrupts,” Tony said.

“We were both wounded by George Gilmore,” she said.

“Did you ever love him?” Tony asked.

“He took over my system like a virus. I was ill from exposure to him. He was in my bloodstream. I couldn’t get him out. Even in death he fucks around with my life, sends you here to bring me this bracelet. That’s mad King George at work,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 963

She stood up, carrying the open wine bottle by its neck, strangled. She leaned against the drapery that hung on the French doors where he stood. He talked on his feet.

He looked out to the garden for calm. He began to cry.

“I’m sorry. You caught me in remorse and bitterness. I think I liked the sex with him. He was the first white man who loved me for being Oriental. Who thought I was gorgeous because of my race. Before him I spent years alone. Now I’m alone again. When he walked out, so cruelly, I got to hate him. I wanted to kill him. Kill your husband. He fucked me up too,” Tony said.

She smiled. “I wanted to kill him too,” she said. She took a tissue from a box of Kleenex and dabbed his face.

“Don’t cry Tony. Our nightmare is ended,” she said.

Now she was crying. She took another tissue and rubbed her eyes. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 964

“Even before we married were never truly passionate.

Intercourse was like assembling furniture from IKEA: screwing parts together, tightening them, only to have them break apart. I don’t know how I got pregnant. After a few years of marriage, we were done,” she said.

He rubbed her shoulder, massaged her, and then he held her, hugging her tightly.

“Thank you,” she said.

She pulled back and went to the wine and he held his empty wine glass out and she poured him more.

“What was it like to make love with my husband?” she asked.

“Oh, you want the details?” he asked.

“Why not? A drunk won’t remember tonight tomorrow,” she said.

“About once a month, he would come over after dark.

Told you he was taking a client to dinner. He would park in the alley. Headlights on and off as indicator. I unlocked the door. He would enter in back. The lights were off. I lit candles, closed the blinds. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 965

He would lay down on the couch, strip down, and I would devour him. I was aggressive. He was soft. We never kissed. It was hard, rough, painful, full of shame. He liked to take it. I was a top, which I’m grateful for. We fucked really fast. I’d take some baby oil and just grease up. No protection. He would often leave without saying good-bye, just escaping out the back door after we came.

Other times he might stay and unload his guilt. He would tell me how bad he felt, which destroyed our intimacy, and made me feel low and degenerate. The more sex we had the more I hated him. That’s why it had to end,” Tony said.

In her intoxication, she listened. She was numb now, the lewdness grazed her, lightly, without pain. She found it ridiculous, nearly funny.

“That’s the picture! George, legs up, you inside of him, greased up and rock hard, you giving him womanly pleasure he could never give a woman,” she said.

“Life is unfair,” Tony said.

“He had all the privileges of a man and the pleasures of a woman,” she said.

“So did I,” Tony said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 966

“Now I speak my mind. Never did I know I could utter these vulgarities,” she said.

Edna thought about the nights he came home late, disheveled, hostile, uncommunicative, alibi ready. Why did it matter now?

“Let’s talk about something else. Have you spoken to

Norma?” she asked.

“Now you torture me. She cut me out of her family. I don’t care. After all, I’m only her family,” he said.

“I think she would reconcile. If you approached her,”

Edna said.

“She is just like her parents. They all turned against me,” he said.

He recalled Hong Kong. He spoke about Norma’s parents, his aunt and uncle, their crowded government block with hundreds of other families.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 967

“I lived with them when my parents died. They became my parents and I was their son. And just like real ones they extracted a payment,” he said.

When he turned 18, they were constantly hounding him to marry, to give them a wedding, a wife, nephews and nieces. Children. He talked about their days in Lok Fu, riding a bus in a circle that went around Chuk Yuen Estate.

“They acted as my parents, really pushed me because I was a boy. And I was special to them. The Male,” he said.

On the bus with them, on his 19th Birthday, he felt heartbreak. They had all gone to buy a cake. He saw their happiness when they sat near children on board. His aunt and uncle smiled, laughed, made faces at the children they wanted for their own, the children they wanted him to make.

“Look Tony, look at the little girl. You will have a daughter like her someday. Or maybe that boy or that boy over there on the back bench,” his aunt said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 968

“A son is better than a daughter, but either or both are good enough for us,” his uncle said.

Tony was destined to give them nothing. The only means of self-respect was to run away from obligations, escape to

America where freedom was inventing your life, where the only thing that mattered was the happiness you would never have.

His suffering, his feelings as a failed man, and as a stain on his family, never left him.

In his life, even now, he was still on that bus, riding in circles around Chuk Yuen Estate, still cowering, still self-loathing, still in exile from the old masters of shame and duty.

“Me and George had similar self-hatred. But I lived more honestly,” Tony said.

“And you survived. And you will survive,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 969

“George was a well-to-do, white American man with a wife and children, perhaps the ultimate type of human being one could wish to be on Planet Earth,” Tony said.

Edna talked about young George, his early days of marriage when he wrote screenplays and thought his work was truly significant. But something held him back. He could have been a screenwriter, but the risk to his ego, should he fail, was too great. He relied on his position and his family name to sustain his self-worth.

“He really wanted to be a screenwriter and he really loved men. He denied his nature for outward respectability.

He did this to earn a good living, to have a wife and family. It was all sacrifice, which to me, is the quintessential Chinese way,” Tony said.

Then they opened another bottle. They went back to the couch, to sit there drowsily and blissfully marinating in wine and catharsis.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 970

“We need air,” Edna said. She took his hand and led him out to the patio, to the dusk where the coolness was cooler and their sweat vaporized into the atmosphere.

Waning afternoon turned over into early evening. The sun was lower in the sky, the cumulus clouds were like cotton balls torn and twisted up throughout the sky, floating overhead, tinted in orange light.

On the ground near the fountain where hummingbirds buzzed in and out of the waterfall he had set up an impromptu spa for Edna.

She had gone to her bedroom to change and emerged in the garden in an ivory colored, knee length, terry cloth robe. Her hair was tied in a chignon. He sat her down on towel draped stool so that her feet were submerged in a wide bowl of warm water layered with little peach rose petals taken off a nearby bush.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 971

Tony dabbed almond oil along her neck, and her ears; his fingers easing the ointment down to her shoulders. He opened her robe up, slightly, so her breasts were partially uncovered and he took his fingers and rubbed her upper pectoralis. He meant only care. His manner was devoid of eroticism, yet he emitted electrifying, tactile sensations.

“Relax. Close your eyes. Smell the flowers. Listen to the water in the fountain. Can you hear the birds sing?” he asked.

“I can listen to your voice, your glorious Hong Kong accented English, all day,” she said, eyes closed.

She was in a reverie. She did not open her eyes, for to open them would end the moment and she wished for it to go on and on. Her feet soaked for twenty minutes, but it felt like an hour.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 972

“Ok, time to awake, come to your senses, step out,” he said.

She opened her eyes. He helped her step out of the footbath. He bent down and dried her feet with a hand towel, slipped her into house slippers. And they walked back into the Chinese Room, a dark room, feebly illuminated by the indirect light from the numerous, little plant spotlights in the garden.

They came in and stood in the dark. She wore her robe.

He took a comb and drew out a lock, away from her face, hair wet and matted. He combed it down behind her ear, the teeth traced down her neck, and she felt a chill, a drop came down, he guided her over to a chair, and she sat down.

“I wonder how Norma is liking Hong Kong. I don’t think she’s been there for years,” Edna said, hoping to trigger a catty remark from him.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 973

“I can see her at Happy Valley, in her Chanel suit with a jaunty straw hat and a string of pearls. I bet you she is at the Royal Hong Kong Jockey Club chatting up Sir

Oswald Victor Cheung, her grand barrister friend with money and political connections. I see her selling big góng yùn to the promised land in Arcadia and San Marino,” he said conjuring up his fantasy of her trip.

“I don’t understand,” Edna said.

“She’s making big bucks back there. She’s a calculating and strategic woman. She doesn’t do anything for sentimental reasons,” Tony said.

“You don’t think she has good intentions?” Edna asked.

“She is a self-made woman. She doesn’t need good or bad intentions. She just needs to be,” he said.

“You are a self-made man too. You came here alone and made a life for yourself,” she said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 974

“With her it’s different. She has nothing to hide. She isn’t gay. She has a husband, a daughter, a business. She is wealthy now. An American. They will fall at her feet. I will never have her power,” Tony said.

“Are you comparing?” Edna said.

“What I’ve done in America with my business, yes, all that’s good. But my life, as a gay man, an Asian, that cancels out what I have built. I stand in my salon sometimes, looking out the window. I watch the college students, and the couples, men and women, holding hands, making out. They can be open, free, and make love, without condemnation. But I move amongst the shadows. My lover comes in through the backdoor alley,” he said.

“George probably envied and admired you for what you’ve accomplished. Don’t you think?” Edna said.

That angered him. He took hold of a pillow and crushed it between his hands. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 975

“Fuck him. I’m sorry to curse the dead. We met, came together and split up. I wonder if he ever cared for me beyond his orgasm. Listen to me, I’m shameless,” he said, throwing the pillow down.

He bent to pick it up, puffing it, placing it back in a chair.

“It’s OK. I want to hear the truth. Nobody ever told me what my husband thought about sex,” she said.

“I conjure his ghost, the ghost of pleasure denied,” he said.

There was bitterness in the dark, in the Chinese Room, in the old office of George, regret for their vanished times; and the belated arrival, at this hour in their life, alone and wanting love, bemused and confused by the man they both hoped would rescue them. He had abandoned them.

In the dark, in the Chinese Room, they were alone, they were silent, they were together.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 976

Then there was movement, he over to her, his arm on her shoulder, his hand on her face; and then he kissed her on the lips, not deeply, but tenderly, sparingly, affectionately; a connecting, awakening, perceptive kiss.

“That was nice. I don’t mind,” she said.

“Would you like more?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

He kissed her again, but this time longer, with intent, sensually, artfully.

“Your lips are trembling,” he said

“I haven’t been kissed for years. The sensation is odd and wondrous and welcome,” she said.

He leaned against the edge of the desk and she stood opposite and leaned onto him, and he rested his head upon her shoulder, and they held each other, ruminating, secure in bond.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 977

Her fingers went lightly across the back of his shoulders.

“What made you, come, here, today?” she asked.

Her tone was hushed, reverent.

“I don’t really know. Sewing up a wound? I carried around a loss, a failed love affair. Death made it all final. I never went to his memorial. Nobody sent me a card.

Nobody called me,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I lost him as if I never knew him. Nobody to talk to about the late George Gilmore. I had to come to you. As you are the one who knows. We are simpatico,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 978

Holding hands, they left the room, and walked to the front door. Neither wanted to say good-bye. He slipped on his black loafers. She turned on the orange porch lights and opened the door.

“Do you know you are a very fine woman?” he said.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” she said.

One Country, Two Systems

After that strange, intoxicating day with Tony, Edna felt better.

They had shared a tale of lost love, love held inside a yoke of rejection. Their living reunion was a toast to a dead tyrant.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 979

Tony helped clarify her own grief, a mixture of anger, rejection and remorse George engendered.

Tony said George spoke about guilt and sadness, emotions Edna never saw. Angry George, remorseful George, vulnerable George. All the Georges who performed up on the extra-marital stage.

George had called himself a bad husband, an absent father, a lying fag. He called himself a counterfeit, an imitation, a fabrication.

George said he was doomed to suffer. He expected to be punished for his sins. He believed in an often angry and vengeful God. He hoped, it seemed, that his confessions to

Tony would be heard by a sometime more merciful God.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 980

At those times when George was vulnerable and honest,

Tony fell harder in love. When George walked away, without a word, his abandonment of Tony intensified the cruelty.

Only death ended the longing for another chance between the two men.

All this was told to Edna by Tony.

Hearing how George thought of himself provoked pity and guilt in her. She wished she knew the extent of his mental torture when he was alive. Maybe she could have helped him. Maybe they might have achieved détente. Was she complicit in his downfall?

She was mindful to remember what Tony said. Now she had to write everything down that flooded into her head: parse it, document it, archive it.

She wrote fast. It was mentally and physically exhausting. Her hand was sore from holding a pen, recalling words, forcing ink onto paper, words and words, her thoughts, Tony’s and George’s. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 981

But her effort was enlightening, soothing, and redeeming, expelling her poisons by self-expression. When she saw the written transcription of her conversation with

Tony, his perceptions of George, she was vindicated. At last.

A cathartic fatigue, liberating.

Norma Returns

Norma’s opinions had once mattered, her judgments were respected, her condemnations feared. Edna had lived for the stronger one’s approval.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 982

But the unmasking of lies, the confrontation with truth and long buried revelations, all these fortified

Edna, empowering her. After the tragedies of losing her father and husband, within months, and the discovery of

George as closeted gay, his sickness and death, she endured it all and survived.

She had faced every calamity with courage, and emerged as a victorious loser; orphaned, widowed and humiliated; yet in full possession of her dignity and integrity.

While George was alive, she hadn’t thought about money. Now she met with a financial planner. She learned she was very well off. She could travel and buy things or do nothing. And wake up each day, until the end of her life, effortlessly rich. She had her health and freedom.

And money.

For the first time in a year she ate regularly.

She laughed and smiled and slept through the night.

Her tranquility came out of the sheer joy of nothingness, the lack of any duties, unbounded by any demands. Her eldest was in college, her youngest was a teenager. He could heat up his own meals in the microwave, on paper plates. What was there left for her to do? Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 983

A maid came weekly and the mailman came daily and even

Gelson’s delivered.

The new emptiness suited Edna, for the dead overlords were gone, and she was autonomous, liberated and released, from the cage of dreadful events.

If this was time for self-pity, it was by choice, not circumstance. She looked afresh at reality and was invigorated by optimism, nourished by reason, uplifted by hope.

She had come alive in a new, non-fictional story.

On Monday night, Norma came back from Hong Kong.

On Tuesday morning, she went to see Edna.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 984

This was their first meeting since their long, hard, honest discussion. Unknown to Norma, Tony had seen Edna who was now armed with testimony about George. For the first time, Edna knew more about her late husband’s misadventures than Norma did.

Edna opened the side door near the garage. Norma came into the house in gray sweats and white sneakers. She carried a big blue tin of Kjeldsen’s Butter Cookies and a gold box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates. She handed them to

Edna.

It was like old times.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to bring me gifts. You are so generous. Wonderful to see you. You look quite rested.

I’ve never seen you so casual,” Edna said, placing the cookie boxes atop the washing machine and ushering her friend in.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 985

“I’m taking a few days off. Next for me is a diet and exercise program. Jane Fonda. I ate far too well in Hong

Kong. Egg tarts and martinis,” she said.

They stood in the kitchen and appraised one another.

Norma was tanned, tropically darker, fuller-faced. Her black hair framed her face in a matronly way. Gold earrings and red lipstick. Edna served coffee, Norma poured cream, and they sat down at the table.

Norma was fast flowing, words spilling out, giddy, effusive, girlish.

She talked. Humidity, rain, jet lag, hot weather, moving sidewalks, double-decker buses, the Star Ferry, barbecued pork, soup dumplings, egg tarts; streets jammed with shoppers and sidewalk vendors, turnip cakes, and claypot rice; afternoon tea, nighttime views of the skyline and the harbor, and her luxurious room at The Regent.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 986

Against the superlatives, there was an undercurrent of melancholy.

“And what else?” Edna asked.

“You want to know what else really is bothering me?”

Norma asked.

She talked about a recent treaty. Beginning in 1997,

Hong Kong would be under the umbrella of Red China, with some autonomy and judicial independence. One nation, two systems.

The United Kingdom and China had negotiated to return

Hong Kong back to full Chinese control by 2047.

By law, geography, and ethnicity it sounded logical and just. Was not Hong Kong a part of China? What right did

Britain have to retain Hong Kong as a colonial possession?

It would be like China holding Belfast, Ireland as its colony.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 987

But Norma was against the treaty, fearing it, despising it. Her patriotic sympathies lay with the colonizer.

“The future of Hong Kong is dark. The end is coming.

Hong Kong will be consumed, swallowed, and eaten alive by

China. The press and the people will not be free. When the

Reds say business, they don’t mean money. They mean absolute control over everything, everything you say, write, think,” she said.

“Ghastly. I hope your prediction doesn’t come true,”

Edna said.

“The ones with money are getting out, buying property elsewhere. That’s a sign that they are hedging their bets, that perhaps Hong Kong won’t be their home after the changing of the guard,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 988

“I don’t understand. Won’t the people of Hong Kong rule themselves? Won’t it be in the interest of the Chinese government to promote the international status of Hong Kong as a financial hub a and free market city?” Edna asked.

“One would think so. But wealthy friends are planning on buying property in Australia, Singapore, London,

Vancouver, and Southern California. You would think I’d be happy to make money. Indeed, I am. But I have deep, sad, quiet anguish. This is an evacuation from Hong Kong. I have no other word for it,” she said.

“One never knows. You can’t predict. Look at my life,”

Edna said.

“You haven’t run from oppression. You haven’t lived under violent and sadistic courts, police, politicians. You haven’t known mobs, revolutions, hunger, collapse. You live in prosperity and freedom. As an American we can be free and happy or choose our own means of self-destruction. That is freedom,” Norma said, bitterly and ironically. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 989

“Of course,” Edna said, pondering what self- destruction meant in the wake of George’s death.

Edna’s new diamond heart bracelet caught Norma’s eye.

“Gorgeous,” she said.

“It was a gift from George. It arrived the other day,”

Edna said.

Edna didn’t want to explain more, as she might have to tell more, that is, who brought it.

Norma spoke about her meeting with wealthy investors.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 990

“I went to the racecourse at Happy Valley. I met with two wealthy friends. I brought my notebook with photographs and listings of my properties. Their mouths dropped when they saw how large the homes were in California, how much house half a million or more could buy. They were looking at the horses run around the track, then they looked down at my houses, and they saw a sure bet,” she said.

Her mood was less than elated. Her voice intoned regret, sadness, weariness. Every new home sold in

California meant one less family in Hong Kong.

“These Hong Konger’s don’t only want houses, they want apartments, they want hotels, they want commercial buildings, even storage facilities. They will need to store all their belongings, from all their days, from all their wanderings,” Norma said.

Norma would sell a lot of property, administering to a new diaspora of refugees fleeing the impending arrival of totalitarianism.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 991

“It doesn’t all sound dark! Who else but you could return to Hong Kong in triumph? Who else could gather all those powerful people and make deals?” Edna said, cheeringly.

“It was easy. You know why? Even the wealthiest are terrified. They see the writing on the Great Wall. China is brutal. They are sadistic. Their law is President Li

Xiannian. Not the Constitution, not the Bill of Rights. To speak your mind freely means imprisonment or death,” she said.

“It’s so easy to be down on America. But we are blessed in this nation. We are united. We are one nation under God. I truly believe that. The only hope for humanity are these United States,” Norma said.

She concluded her patriotic tribute to America. Her eyes went back to the bracelet.

“Let’s hear about this,” Norma teased.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 992

Now it was time to speak about the furtive, mysterious diamond heart bracelet. Edna elucidated.

“Your cousin Tony came here the other day,” Edna said.

“Tony came here? To see you?” Norma asked.

“He just showed up. He presented this to me. It was still gift wrapped, in a box, just as George intended,”

Edna said.

“Tony gave your husband’s gift to you?” Norma asked.

“Of course. Let’s not pretend anymore. Let’s be honest. We both know they were together. Tony and George.

Tony was in love with George. George left Tony. And they never spoke again. But here was this gift. It was left behind in Tony’s apartment when George walked out on him.

My gift from George abandoned in his lover’s apartment. I lost my husband, but I gained a diamond bracelet. Is it tragic or miraculous? Maybe a bit of both,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 993

“I think this story is very suspicious. I don’t trust

Tony. There has to be some motivation,” Norma said.

“His motivation was compassion. We visited for hours, it was wonderful. I got to feel what it must have been like for George to have a friend like Tony. He came to give love and I welcomed him,” Edna said.

“Oh, my goodness. Just keep your guard up. He is very charming. But don’t forget who he really is,” Norma said.

“I won’t. That’s why his visit was so meaningful to me,” Edna said.

“I haven’t spoken to him for years,” Norma said.

“He told me you don’t speak to him. Surely, if I can forgive him, if I can love him, if I can understand him, why can’t you?” Edna asked.

“Let’s not bring him up. We have worked so hard to settle our differences, and he will ignite another dispute,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 994

Edna told a tale of a despised and feared and hated man, who appeared, out of the blue, with a gift, a man seeking redemption, grace and forgiveness. She asked Norma to reconsider him, pardon him.

Norma, unable to answer, pivoted to a recollection from her trip to Hong Kong.

“On my last night in Hong Kong, it was raining heavily when I left the racecourse at Happy Valley. I had no umbrella. I was drenched. What could I do? I went for a walk down Stone Nullah Lane. I walked fast. And then I realized I could not get out of the rain. When you are caught in a downpour you might as well surrender. I went into an alley near the Blue House. My makeup was running down my face, my hair and wool suit were soaked. I stood outside of the Blue House in the torrential rain. And I cried for a long time, by myself, alone. Then I walked back to the hotel. I went up to my room, got out of my wet clothes, showered, got dressed again, went down and ate dinner,” Norma said.

“That was a terrible end to your trip,” Edna said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 995

“Not at all. I was determined to leave happy. I went to the Plume, a French restaurant in my hotel at The

Regent. I treated myself to beluga caviar, crabmeat salad with bamboo shoots, and venison with morel sauce. I drank a few glasses of dry champagne. It was my last night in Hong

Kong. I was a cauldron of emotions. And I treated myself with kindness and compassion. I left the table elated and full,” she said.

“You’ve come back home different, chastened, softer.

Am I right?” Edna asked.

“I walked in the past, and I saw the future. And now

I’m glad to be home here in Pasadena with my family and you,” she said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 996

Epilogue: The Race to the End of the Earth

1987

Handsome faced Lieutenant Col. Oliver North was on television, testifying before Congress on his role in the

Iran Contra Affair, in which he, and some members of the

Reagan Administration, were accused of illegally selling arms to Iran to pay for a secret Central American proxy war funding the anti-communist Contras in Nicaragua.

Norma was at home, Monday night, setting a table in the dining room for Lesley’s 20th Birthday party. She knew little of the political investigation in Washington, only that one of the conspirators had movie star looks and hated communists.

In rolled up oxford, boxer shorts, holding a glass of iced whiskey, Vincent watched the proceedings while his wife quietly fumed. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 997

“Do you want to clean up? Before Edna and Rory get here?” she asked, folding napkins into triangles.

“Very disturbing what they did. Reagan had to know,” he said.

“Know what?” she asked with annoyance.

“Iran-Contra, illegally selling arms to Iran, in violation of Congress, using it to fund a proxy war in

Central America. Very dirty politics. Do you think it’s hot in here?” he said.

He went to a window and opened it.

In the center of the dining table she placed tea candles in votives. She lit a match, it went out, she lit another, it went out. And then she lost it.

“It’s windy out there!” she screamed. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 998

He quickly shut the window. She lit another match and set fire to each candle.

“I don’t care about the damn news or what they do in

Washington. Pay attention to this affair, your daughter’s birthday party. I’m exhausted. And you are analyzing politics. Whatever they did, they had a reason to do it, to fight communists. If Reagan knew, or didn’t know, who cares? We would do better if we took Congress off the back of the president and just let him do his job!” she said.

“Like a dictator! I should put on my pants,” Vincent said smiling.

“Good idea. And I have to get dressed. Where the hell is Lesley?” she said.

“I’ll go change,” he said. He went to the bedroom. And she went into the kitchen. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 999

Lesley walked in with her just bought birthday cake.

“Thank you. Put it up on the counter. I want to inspect it before we present it,” Norma said.

The cake was triple layered chocolate, with chocolate frosting, and a mound of multi-colored gumballs surrounding a wax candle 20. The perimeter of the cake was vertical

Kit-Kat bars.

“Ok. It looks good. Remember, after you blow out the candle take a piece for politeness. But just put it on the side. Don’t eat it, you don’t need it!” Norma said.

“Fine. I pick up my own birthday cake which I can’t eat. Makes sense,” Lesley said.

“You want to have a battle before our guests arrive?”

Norma said.

“What guests? Edna and Rory? They’re our friends. I’m sure they know you by now,” Lesley said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1000

Later, after the cake was cut, and Lesley put her piece aside, Edna and Rory, blithely unaware of tension, sat with the family in the den.

Adults drank champagne, Rory and Lesley milk.

Edna was relaxed, oblivious, buzzed; schoolgirl attired in Fair Isle sweater and plaid skirt. Norma wore

Norma Kamali, an expensive wool suit, garishly chartreuse, padded shoulders and six buttons.

Lesley was in leggings, and an oversized gray sweatshirt emblazoned with a jagged font slogan, “Punk is

Not a Fashion Statement.”

“How is school?” Edna asked.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1001

“Love Art Center, thank you. We are even using computers now. It’s very exciting. Malcolm McLaren, one of the founders of the Sex Pistols, came to teach a class,”

Lesley said.

“Sex Pistols!” Norma scoffed.

“Do you even know who they are?” Lesley asked.

“I don’t want to know with a name like that. What kind of school invites a teacher from The Sex Pistol?” Norma said.

Vincent intervened diplomatically.

“She’s doing well. Enjoying school, working hard.

She’s going to graduate and work as an illustrator or animator and we are very proud,” Vincent said.

“How about your love life?” Edna asked.

“Fine. Nobody in particular,” she answered.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1002

“Next year, at your 21st Birthday, I expect to see you come to your celebration dressed as a lady accompanied by a nicely attired gentleman friend,” Norma said.

Lesley pouted, her expression got angry, and she shook her head.

Norma saw it. “Why don’t you have some cake?” she asked.

“Because I’m forbidden to eat it! I have to excuse myself,” Lesley said.

She got up and walked out of the room.

“I’m sorry. I always say the wrong thing,” Edna said.

“Everything is wrong with her. Compliment her and she gets angry. Get angry at her, she gets angrier. Offer her cake and she offers sarcasm. She doesn’t know true suffering in life,” Norma said, raising her voice, loudly, to project it through the house, to land it with a thump, in Lesley’s ears. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1003

The thundering, full-mouthed tirade went on.

Rory hid his face in his hands. Vincent walked out of the room.

“Because she’s had it too easy! She has all the blessings of this country! And she is determined to destroy her good fortune! I can’t control her, I can’t reason with her, I truly fear for her. Oh, what’s the use!” Norma yelled.

From upstairs Lesley shouted. “I can hear you! The whole city can hear you! Shut up!”

Norma stood up, took dirty plates off the coffee table. Edna helped. They walked them together into the kitchen.

“No respect. She should be caned, and slapped, and thrown out of the house onto the street, made to fend for herself. What a god-forsaken daughter!” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1004

“Ok. Ok. It’s her birthday. Let it be,” Edna said.

“I’m fed up. As a parent you do your best to guide your child. And whatever you do, you try and improve their life. You can’t help it. You love them. And when things go awry you blame yourself,” Norma said.

Rory wandered off, away from the woman, and the noise, and the conflict.

The women stood at the sink.

“Always drama. At least you and Rory are doing well.

You look good too,” Norma said, brushing her hand across

Edna’s out-of-sorts hair.

“New hair style?” Norma asked.

“We walked against the wind, that’s all,” Edna said.

Norma rinsed off a plate, poured soap on sponge, talked and washed. The water ran with the conversation.

“Next year she turns 21, then she graduates. I will pay to put her up in her own place. I can’t have her at home. She upsets Vincent, really kills him with her behavior. I try and hide her ugly artwork from him,” Norma said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1005

“When I was Lesley’s age, at 20, I had no mother,”

Edna said.

Norma dried her hands. She cupped Edna’s face, gently, like a caring mother, her hands fresh and clean.

“I have a great, unspoken fear about her. She isn’t normal. An unfeminine creature. You see how she walks and dresses. She draws these beasts in her portfolio, fire breathing, reptilian aliens, ugly, blood-soaked, clawed monsters from hell. Who makes art like that? Something is disturbed in her mind, violent, angry, resentful. Her imaginary superheroes only want to dominate and control. I see it in her sadistic cartoons,” Norma said.

“She’ll grow out of it. Or maybe her hideous creations will make her a famous artist. Whatever her passions are, try and support her,” Edna said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1006

“Let’s talk about something else. I have a new Sony

Trinitron television. Did you see it in the den?” Norma said.

“Japanese electronics? I thought you only bought

American,” Edna said.

“I had no choice. They make the best,” Norma said.

They went back in the den.

Lesley had returned. She sat on the couch with her father. And Rory presented her with a birthday present, a record album: Pet Shop Boys, Actually. She unwrapped it and giddily looked it over, amused by the song titles.

“It’s a Sin and What Have I Done to Deserve This?

Could this be more appropriate? Did you know I loved Pet

Shop Boys or did these songs remind you of me?” she asked.

“Kind of both,” Rory said.

“Thank you!” Lesley said, as she hugged Rory.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1007

Norma and Edna stood politely in the corner, and watched without comment.

The Bridge

September 1987

She never dared go up to The Bridge. It loomed there, all these years; ominous, arched, forbidding. It spoke to her, in silence, mocking her grief. It pulled up other people’s tragedies, some forgotten, some remembered, most unknown.

She had forbidden her children to go to the bridge.

But they did, in secret; on foot, on bike, in the dark; beyond their mother’s view and without her knowledge. They never told her, for it they did, she would have cried.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1008

The awesome, arched span of the Colorado Street Bridge was too fearsome and powerful to confront, the emotions it ignited too searing to endure.

Sometimes, out of sight, the bridge still cried out, deep into the night. It cried with sirens, jolting dreamers out of bed; the screams of jumpers on winds rushed through the canyon, helpless voices falling to death; and then the darkness at the light of morning, the police at the door, the anguish and heartbreak of the just informed.

Edna had made all bridges complicit in the death of her sister. All the bridges in the world were co- conspirators, luring innocents to ledge and railing.

She hated and feared them all, all those engineered structures spanning rivers, lakes and mountains and valleys. And especially this one that loomed over her life.

She kept her children from them, to guard against a great man-made fabrication of form and function tempting and enticing the troubled into self-destruction. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1009

Our Very Own

She felt playful and light-hearted, naughty, girlish, mischievous. And she wanted to play again.

Whimsy had returned.

She went, in a frothy and gay mood, to Bullocks at 401

S. Lake Avenue.

She tried on new Cathy Hardwick outfit, an oatmeal linen halter dress with a matching longer jacket and padded shoulders. It was $250, and she bought it. She wore it out of the store and packed her old clothes in the new Bullocks shopping bag.

Outside it was bright and breezy, and she walked to her car swinging her bag, a happy girl on a summer afternoon. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1010

She drove home, with the car windows open, along

California Blvd., the radio playing an old Jo Stafford song, Our Very Own:

There's a magic land

All our very own

It's ever close at hand

And our very own

Beyond a secret door

There lies a garden fair

With roses everywhere

For only us to share

Love brings everything

Right before our eyes

The miracle of spring

Never fades or dies Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1011

For we have but to kiss

And all of this

Is ours alone

The magic is our very own7

At home, she found Rory sitting sullenly in front of the TV, atop his unmade bed.

“What have you been doing?” she asked.

“Staring at nothing,” he said.

7 From the 1950 film "Our Very Own", starring Farley Granger and Ann Blyth. (Jack D. Elliot / Victor Young)

Recorded by: Greta Keller; The Mastersounds; Vaughn Monroe & His Orch.; Jo Stafford; Sonny Stitt; Sarah Vaughan. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1012

“Then let’s go out. For a walk. Would you like that?” she asked.

“I’m 17. Do you still take me for walks?” he asked.

“I think so. As long as I’m able I’d like to walk with you. It’s better than sitting inside on a Saturday and moping,” she said.

“Where are we walking to?” he asked.

“I thought we would go up to the bridge,” she answered.

“The Colorado Street Bridge? The forbidden bridge?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“You don’t have some bizarre plan in mind?” he asked.

“What is so wrong about walking across the bridge?” she asked.

“Nothing except you are terrified of it, you despise it. And you’ve instilled that fear in me,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1013

“I want to correct that. I need your help. We need to go up there and walk across it. Stomp out our terror by confronting it,” she said.

He rolled off the bed and stood up.

“Little did you know I went to the library to learn about that bridge. I wanted to find out the great things about it to refute your hatred of it. I took down some notes, when I was in sixth grade, 11 years old. I was daringly precocious,” he said.

He went to his desk, opened a drawer, scattering paper, pens, clips, staplers and coins. He pulled out a piece of folded-up paper with scribbled words.

“I’ve been waiting for this. Let’s go,” he said.

She watched him grab clothes off hangers: khakis,

Vans, white oxford. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1014

Nothing was ironed, everything was amiss, his shirt tails hung out, his hair was on end and mussed up. He smiled and walked with alacrity to the bedroom door.

She was still in her new linen dress and blazer. “Mom are you going to walk in that lovely outfit?” he asked.

“Why not? I might bump into someone I know,” she said pulling up his shirt collar and smoothing down his errant hair.

They walked first up Arbor Street, then past the noble and elegant houses on Grand Avenue. They passed 222 where

Norma and Vincent lived. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I hope she’s not home. I want to keep going,” he said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1015

“People like Norma don’t go outside. They are always at work. She only looks at her yard on her way to work, on the driveway, sitting in her car, windows rolled down, directing the gardeners,” Edna said.

They continued up the wealthy road, admiring and cooing at the rose beds, the architectural coordination, and the powerful, formful refinements of art and ornament; they walked by columned porticos, mansard roofs, past places flown in fresh from Normandy, the Loire Valley, and the hills of Tuscany; houses of symmetry and order, forms and rules; past green lawns that sparkled in mist, sunlight and shade under the canopy of trees. It was prime, it was perfect, it was Pasadena.

At last, they entered the park along a footpath that brought them to the Colorado Street Bridge.

Before them stretched the curve of the bridge and road, decorative globed lights and concrete balustrades, the beckoning grace of a span across the Arroyo Seco.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1016

Beyond was the rest of the west, Los Angeles, the ocean and The Orient.

But standing in front was the bridge, substantial and terrifying, cradled in a deep crevice over a dry riverbed, loomed over by mountains. Here was a locale for explorers and dreamers, headed elsewhere or returning home, a point on the map for those in a suicidal frame of mind; or today, a bridge for the elated to walk upon, trouncing and defeating the paved face of fear itself.

There, at the bridge’s beginning, mother and son stood; pausing, before proceeding.

She held his hand tight. She hugged him, his face pressed into her jacket lapel, her arms around him, his face on her fresh and crisp linen lapel, his nose swimming in the airy, aldehydic, flora of Paco Rabanne’s Calandre.

At the bridge, here, now, he was in her caress and her love and next to her beating heart, cradled by her femininity and her motherhood. Her affection was also acknowledgement, an atonement for the cowardice she had inflicted; it was also an apology for raising him in a home where love was rationed and death was a bridge named Colorado. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1017

They let up and held hands and walked with care.

And then they were on the bridge itself.

It was relief, for it was sublime, with panoramic views across the hills and the arroyo below; the sky was wide and endless. The abandonment of all that had constricted was left behind on land as they strolled along on high elevation. Death by bridge was banished from thought.

Only the here and now mattered.

Halfway, they stopped and sat down at a scenic overlook, at an architectural indentation with a concrete bench.

“We’re really here. And I love it. All these years and we have never walked here. Now we are on the bridge. We deserve congratulations,” she said.

He took his handwritten notes out of his pocket and read aloud. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1018

“May I?” he asked.

“Please,” she answered.

“The Colorado Street Bridge opened on December 13,

1913. It spans 1,486 feet, at a maximum height of 150 feet.

It is curved, not straight. It took 18 months to build.

There are 600 tons of steel, 11,000 cubic yards of concrete. And it was proclaimed the highest concrete bridge in the world upon completion. It is longer than the Empire

State Building is tall,” he said.

They walked along, holding hands the entire way, until they reached the end, and the stairs that connected the bridge to Linda Vista Avenue below.

“We made it mother,” Rory said.

They turned back, walking east, retracing their steps, but now they walked faster, with more joy and freedom. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1019

“We aren’t afraid! We walk with assurance that we will reach the other side,” Edna said.

“In a few years I will be 50, an age I once looked at with fear and trepidation. But if I get to 50, so help me,

I will throw myself a party. And even if nobody comes it will the biggest celebration of my life,” she said.

July 13, 2017

I Am What I Am

She stood near the coffee table in the middle of her townhouse living room, where a new electronic device was placed atop a stack of photography books.

“Hey Google, play Leslie Cheung I Am What I Am,” Norma said.

Her Google Home smart speaker obeyed. And I Am What I

Am played. She smiled, dazzled by the power of her own words to command results. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1020

“Hey Google, what is the weather today in Pasadena?” she asked.

“The weather will be hot today in Pasadena. The high will be 98 degrees and the low 73,” the speaker said.

“Hot,” she said, muttering the way people do when they are old and alone.

At 77, Norma Loh still stood erect. Her hair was silver, tied back in a single knot. She rode an exercise bike every morning, did daily stretches, and ate sparse, plain meals, by herself. She credited her acute percipience, undiminished assiduity and agile intelligence to her daily ingestion of warm green tea.

She made her own herbal pork bone soup, Ching Po

Leung. When she ate, she felt full, but not too full, quite nourished and comforted. Her broth was her essence: clear, flavorful and traditional.

On this day, fifty years ago, she had given birth to her only child, Lesley Ann.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1021

Strange. The progression of life in America.

Lesley Ann was at Walt Disney Studios, a director of feature length animation films, and married for 25 years to

Justine Williamson, a Black landscape architect. These two women, along with their two children, Albert, 17, and

Victoria, 16 lived in a 5,000 SF house along the canals in

Venice.

Norma was not one to brag about her children or their children.

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But she had many accolades ready for her friends, praising Lesley, Justine, Albert and Victoria. Their success reflected well upon Norma. She basked in their achievements and marveled at how her familial association with her Venice relations tinted her, through proximity, in golden liberal tones.

She still, however, was a lifelong Republican. Low taxes and family values, flag and church, pro-business and pro-wealth. She flew high on these sentiments, embracing them as absolute, unerring dogma indivisible from her hard- won American identity.

As a realtor, now retired, she had kept her politics private. She serviced clients just like her. And while official blindness to discrimination and diversity existed on paper, in the law, it hardly had implanted itself altruistically in either her life or work. She remained with the affluent, tending to their needs, redeemed and compensated by their blessings and transactions.

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Her child’s sexuality and marriage crashed into her cloistered world. She adapted out of necessity, adjusting to the once unspeakable with congenial tolerance that developed into unconditional love. And as multi-culturalism and gay marriage established themselves as 21st Century

American capitalist virtues, Norma quietly acquiesced.

You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them. An old Cantonese proverb regenerated.

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The Yue-Williamson ladies, a mixed-race marriage and family, were connected to entertainment and the arts. Their choice of enclave was liberal and exclusive, a village of oddball overachievers who relished their non-conformities; and strict adherence to the enlightened, majority approved tolerances of their time. Their diet, their clothes, their language, their schools, their professed politics, their likes on Twitter and Instagram, all of it was adjusted and monitored so that the wrong words, gestures or tweets would not trip them up on chat rooms, Facebook or at the next zoning board meeting.

Albert Yue-Williamson skateboarded, surfed, rowed, played guitar and piano, and smoked pot on the beach.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-skinned with high cheekbones, Afro hair and almond eyes, handsome and model-worthy, endowed with godlike features. He wore bright colored sweatshirts, printed board shorts and leather bracelets. He had a quiet tenacity and concentration.

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He was also morbid and cynical, a hardness that he cultivated, increasingly, as he tore into maturity, recognizing adult hypocrisies on matters of race. What the world thought of him, how he might react to it, the judgment of strangers, all this stimuli around him provoked and instigated his anger.

He was sensitive to his non-Whiteness. And alert to the world of anti-Blackness, an inherited condition of vulnerability no amount of achievement could overcome. He would face extra surveillance under the law, extra burdens as a husband and father, diminished freedoms under his country’s folkways and practices.

He grew a hard shell over his ego, a protective covering, to guard against the perceived, expected and actual encounters of life, now and in the future.

He ventured out into Los Angeles, as an ethnically ambiguous, pop culturally aware, young man.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1026

He had power in his persona. Seductive and artful, urbane and boyish, he exuded cultivated, shoreline ruggedness.

He ran through all types of girlfriends, personalities, and looks, consuming them like flavors of ice cream: sweet, dark, organic, salty, mixed. As the child of lesbian parents, he was accorded, without effort, as respecting the equality and dignity of all women.

At Palisades High he was pulled into a popular group of athletes, top students, and children of celebrities.

He looked stunningly like his grandfather Vincent, channeling the jaw and the eyes, the Hong Kong movie star looks. Which made him a favorite of Norma.

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Victoria was dark skinned with long dark black hair, but she was shorter and stockier, like Lesley. She was a lackluster student, but extremely kind, a person who always showed consideration for hard up strangers, especially the homeless people who lived all around her. She was political, outspoken, angered at injustice, impatient with pretense. Her Instagram was a daily hashtag of

#womenmatter, #metoo and #allblacklivesmatter.

She knew her life was privileged, which made her think that birth luck alone was not a good reason to feel superior.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1028

Lesley and family came a few times a year to Pasadena.

Sometimes on Sundays, they met Norma for dim sum at NBC on

Atlantic Ave. And afterwards they went to walk in the

Huntington Gardens. These were the obligatory days spent with Norma (“po po”), the two wives and their children, strolling through Liu Fang Yuan, the Garden of Flowing

Fragrance, past the peach blossoms, fragrant pines, bamboo and plum trees; inside calligraphically embellished courtyards, among pagodas and pavilions. The strolled over the bridges across the lake, near the large, hole splattered limestones harvested from the bed of Lake Tai near Suzhou.

But those times were infrequent, and Norma had to improvise to find company for her many lonely days.

She was retired so she worked hard at leisure.

A few times a year she drove out to stay with Tony at his home in Palm Springs, a restored Mid-20th Century modern place with a butterfly roof and a red 1968 Ford Falcon parked on the driveway. They had made up years earlier without talking about their differences. One day they spoke on the phone and everything was forgotten. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1029

He was also alone but surrounded by many creative friends. He invested his ample funds into the power of aesthetics, a Palm Springs game purchased with money and exhibited through art and architecture.

He commissioned a 5’x 6’ Danny Heller oil painting of his house, which hung over the fireplace on a wide and tall, white brick chimney wall. It established Tony and his home as socially prominent. It announced to the guest that they were in an esteemed residence. It always provoked admiration and compliments.

At Tony’s place were always other old, rich and funny men. They were far over 60 but had butt and hair implants, dazzlingly white teeth; and smooth, tanned skin that looked waxed and polished. The stood around the kitchen island nibbling food, imbibing drink, critiquing everything, extracting deep truths from surfaces.

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They were sprayed in niche fragrances and outfitted in tight jeans and $200 t-shirts. When Norma came, they parted like dancers in a chorus line, and welcomed her with hugs and kisses and wine.

They all drank so much. Their liquoring was endless, their whole day and night revolved around intoxication in the kitchen or by the pool. They stayed up late from too much coffee and too much cocaine. To bed the merry ones went, each alone, alone inside their own single rooms, sleeping late, awakening late morning stumbling into the kitchen for coffee and donuts.

The more they drank, the more they Googled. They found pictures of ridiculous celebrities and laughed and mocked them. And they always viciously attacked President Trump and the First Lady. Norma would have taken offense before, but now it was a tonic, and it was hard to be mad-- as they were so uproariously funny-- and she laughed the whole weekend spent in the company of uncensored and caustic ribaldry.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1031

She was teased and ridiculed with affection, for her dressing, her politics and her moralistic tone. But the men idolized her aristocratic elegance, her clipped accent, her

Pasadena classiness. And they eagerly attached themselves as her dear friends.

She thought she might like a second home out in Palm

Springs but not in Tony’s area, too gay. She thought, perhaps, a gated development, somewhere on a golf course, or around an artificial lake in the desert where the grounds were watered, the people less flamboyant. Frank

Sinatra, Gerald Ford or Dinah Shore Drive, all those names were quite appealing.

She was, however, still tethered to Pasadena. She rented out her old estate and took a lease on a two-story townhouse on Grand Avenue nearer the Colorado Street

Bridge.

She was comfortable here. It was minutes to Huntington

Hospital where she still went for medical treatment, including knee and hip replacements. She blamed those last two ailments on her calcium deprived childhood.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1032

At Huntington, she was a Gold Member of the

President’s Circle, an exclusive club of donors who contributed more than $250,000 each.

She enjoyed valet parking, a plaque on the wall, invitations to cocktail receptions, and the recognition accorded her, a preeminent woman, a business leader, and the widow of one of the first Asian-American doctors at the hospital. She stood as a noble, living monument in the esteem of the institution. Her wealth and generosity ensured that her family name would now live for posterity in Pasadena.

In 2014, her best friend had died at Huntington.

And three years later, the passing of Edna Lodge

Gilmore, burned inside her, so dearly did she miss her friend of forty years. Edna had died the year after

Vincent. And sometimes the two cataclysmic losses seemed to merge into one.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1033

These deaths came soon after extraordinary milestones and achievement.

In 2011, her company, The Loh Group, was purchased by

Keller-Williams for $70 million dollars.

After the acquisition Norma and Vincent travelled.

They spent time in Portugal, between Lisbon and Porto, renting a villa, traveling on the Costa de Prata. They ate fish, drank wine, read books under the olive trees, visited castles and monasteries.

They went to Iceland in the dead of winter to see the northern lights. And they went to Israel, to the River

Jordan and to the Dead Sea to walk in Christ’s footsteps.

Greece was their last trip.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1034

It was a strange trip of diminished joys, days when

Vincent slept, and Norma read books in the corner of the white room next to the blue sea.

Neither spoke of the gathering and impending storm.

Something ominous and neurological was amiss.

He forgot words. He had balance problems. He had lost vitality, his mind wandered, he had little energy. They planned to see a doctor when they got back home.

On their last night in Mykonos they ate grilled sea bass, and drank a bottle of Petra Kyr Yianni, a crisp, cold citrusy white wine.

They had chocolate mousse. But Vincent pushed his dessert away.

“I’m not hungry at all. I feel nauseous,” he said.

In the dark, ascending steep steps on their way back to their lodging after dinner, Vincent slipped and fell. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1035

He brushed himself off. And he rose up, unsteadily, and they walked up, more, but he held onto her for balance.

“I have a splitting headache,” he said, words slurring, and he collapsed again.

She called for help, up high along the escarpment, to a house door with a light on. An old couple came out, hurried down the stairs with lantern. They tried to help

Vincent stand, but he could not. Then his face fell into a grotesque contortion.

He died there, that night, on the stairs in Greece.

Mykonos was their end.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1036

On her 50th birthday, Lesley came early with Victoria.

They let themselves in with their own key, walked into the townhouse, carrying flowers for Norma, taking off their shoes, walking back into the dining room; passing the table set for a buffet, celebratory food, a hybrid, an amalgamation: Greek salad, fruit salad, cold noodles with peanut sauce, sliced walnut bread, scrambled eggs under plastic wrap, a platter of cold shrimp, guacamole, smoked salmon, fortune cookies, a bowl of potato chips, another filled with M&Ms. The food was California, nowhere and everywhere.

Norma came out of the kitchen, happily stunned, delighted at their unannounced arrival.

“Hi, po po. How are you?” Victoria asked.

“Oh, very happy now that you’re here. Where is your brother and other mom?” Norma asked.

“At Mei Lee’s house. They went to look at Mom’s herb garden. They’ll be here in a bit,” Victoria said.

Mei Lee was an older, wealthy woman who lived in

Pasadena on a grand estate. She was a friend of Norma, and now a client of Justine’s. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1037

Lesley wore her usual jeans and t-shirt, a style that had not changed in forty years, a look that still rankled

Norma.

“You couldn’t dress a little nicer on your birthday?”

Norma asked.

“No. We are going to Cabinet Town in San Gabriel after this and I’ll be loading boxes into the car,” she said.

“For the home office?” Norma asked.

“Yep. Doing it cheap, doing it ourselves, and Cabinet

Town has good, inexpensive Chinese cabinets,” Lesley answered.

Later, in the afternoon, the small gathering of

Justine, Albert, Victoria, Norma and Lesley ate lunch and birthday cake. Lesley blew out the candles, everyone clapped, Justine kissed her, the kids got up and kissed her, Norma came last to bestow affection. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1038

“Happy Birthday my dear,” Norma said, as she stood over her daughter and kissed her on the forehead.

“Thank you, mom. It’s been a long journey here,”

Lesley said.

“You still have long to go,” Norma said.

“Mei Lee sends her best to you,” Justine said.

“How is the formidable one?” Norma asked.

“As formidable as you,” Justine said, standing up and clearing off dirty plates, assisted by Victoria and Albert.

“She was married to a movie actor you know,” Norma said.

“Who?” Lesley asked.

“His name was Richard Ney. He was a very handsome man when he was young. Famous as the son of Mrs. Miniver, Greer

Garson. He was the son in the movie and then he married his mother in real life! Later he founded an investment firm, became very wealthy, a stock market investor and expert, and he married Mei Lee,” Norma said.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1039

“He married his mother? Sounds like a nightmare,”

Lesley said.

“His mother in the movie! You say the most ridiculous things Lesley Ann,” Norma said.

“That’s remarkable. I never knew. Well the house and grounds are magnificent. Over an acre,” Justine said.

“7 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, built in 1927. I know, I sold it to Richard and Mei Lee,” Norma said.

Norma watched her grandson. He was quiet, subdued, sad, throughout the day. She asked him why. But he turned away.

His quietude recalled Vincent. Norma looked at Albert as if he were a reincarnation. Everything he did she cherished. His pain was unacceptable. She moved closer to him to find out what was wrong.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1040

When Lesley, Victoria and Justine were in the kitchen,

Albert and Norma remained in the dining room.

“I should help,” he said.

“No. Stay. I want to visit,” Norma said.

“Ok. If you insist. I’d rather sit and talk to you than clean dishes,” he said.

“You seem to be in a grumpy mood today. Am I wrong?”

Norma asked.

“No. I’m silent because I was asked to be silent,” he said, indicating he would soon not be.

“What is it? Tell me. Come into to the living room with me and we’ll talk in private,” she said.

He stood up and they walked arm in arm to the sofa.

He was tense, unable to talk. She knew something was troubling him.

“Out with it,” she said.

“Don’t say anything. I am supposed to be silent about this,” he said.

“Of course,” she said.

“It’s about Justine,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1041

“Your mother,” she corrected.

“Sorry, yes mom,” he said.

“We drove over to Mei Lee’s place on San Rafael. Mom parked the car in front, along the curb. She went back to the trunk to take out her briefcase. We saw cops behind us when we drove up the street. That put us on edge. We are

Black, you know. Of course, these Pasadena cops stopped. I guess they saw us and wondered what we were doing. They asked Mom to show her driver’s license. I had to show my

ID. That wasn’t enough. Mom had to call Mei Lee to come out of the house,” he explained.

“Oh goodness. I’m appalled. Absolutely appalled,”

Norma said.

“Old Mei Lee, walking down her long driveway with a cane, all the way to the gate, explaining to the cops that we were her friends, she knew us, nothing was wrong, this was her architect and the architect’s son. Yes, they were here because I invited them,” he explained. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1042

“They made her testify to all that? It was like they needed her to clear you and mother from suspicion,” Norma said.

“She’s Chinese and, excuse me, old, and she is rich and lives there so she was as good as God in vouching for our character,” Albert said.

“Nobody should doubt your character! Or your mother’s!

My blood is in your veins! I am calling the Chief of Police tomorrow and filing a complaint!” Norma thundered.

“Please po po. Just between us. Don’t say a word. You promised,” he said.

He started to cry.

“And then the cops left. We were just so humiliated. I mean Mom is a god-damned graduate of Berkeley, a successful architect, makes fucking more money than any cop will ever know. And yet because she is Black, and I am Black, or

Black enough to be Black, we have to be surveilled and questioned for absolutely no fucking reason! I wanted to scream and cry and tear their eyes out! We did nothing! We were just going to see Mom’s client, and we were treated like criminals!” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1043

“This is wrong, very wrong. I wish there weren’t people with prejudice, but they couldn’t know by looking at you or Mom that she is a highly educated woman, that you are well-to-do, that you come from dignified and accomplished people. If they could know all that maybe they wouldn’t have behaved that way. But they are also protecting property, making sure the community is safe, keeping bad people out of a wealthy area,” Norma said.

“How can I be a 100%, born on this soil, American but treated like an alien invader in the middle of Pasadena!

What did you come to this country for? You came in search of freedom! You came so that your children and grandchildren could live under liberty and justice! Am I deserving of humiliation because I look like a descendent of a slave? Is Norma Loh’s grandson a suspect solely for his skin tone?” he asked.

He wept in her arms. She held him and let him cry.

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1044

After the party, Lesley and Victoria went out to

Cabinet Town on Walnut Grove Avenue in San Gabriel, a large, successful showroom for kitchen cabinets, a Chinese owned company with aggressive sales and discount prices.

Lesley parked the SUV next to a sprawling warehouse, where the steel doors were wide open and the floor was stocked of many shelves of boxed cabinets.

She got out of the vehicle and went up to an older white man with gray hair, a warehouse worker. She spoke to him, pointed to her daughter and the SUV and came back to

Victoria.

“He’s knows who we are. He’ll load the boxes in back.

I’ll be inside for a bit, looking at countertops and hardware, maybe 20 or 30 minutes. You can handle this,”

Lesley said.

She walked into the showroom building opposite the warehouse and left her daughter to observe loading.

Victoria opened the backdoor hatch, and the gray- haired old man with watery blue eyes wheeled boxes on a hand trucks to the vehicle. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1045

A short, young, gum chewing salesman, in too tight trousers and stuffed dress shirt, charged out to the parking lot. He yelled at the warehouse worker, in a string of obscenities, spitting insults and taunts, assassinating his character; fucking slow, so old, hurry up, lazy fool, loser.

Victoria watched it, her blood boiled.

She saw, up close, the harsh and loud words, the slave owning way he abused the old man.

The gum chewer smiled at Victoria.

“Sorry miss. Rory just needs to hear me yell. He doesn’t listen. The boss lady brought him in, her charity work, you know, give an old, white, homeless man a job. We have to watch him closely,” he said.

“You are a jerk. He’s a human being. You have no right to abuse him,” Victoria said.

“No, no. I’m not like this. I got a boss too. She comes down hard on me, so I’m hard on Rory. This is a business. You have to shout sometimes. We make money selling a lot of cheap cabinets. You can’t have slow workers or the customers get angry. Rory is slow. I can’t get bad reviews online,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1046

She stayed silent and angry. He knew she wasn’t happy.

“Let me see what’s keeping your mom inside. You want a cold drink? Water? Soda?” he said.

She didn’t answer. He went back into the showroom.

Lesley texted: “10 more minutes.”

Victoria locked the SUV. She wandered behind the warehouse where the hot sun beat down onto the treeless pavement and a lone RV sat marooned in the concrete sea.

She knocked on the RV door.

Rory opened it.

“Hi. I don’t mean to bother you. I saw how he treated you. And I don’t think it’s right. I’m Victoria Yue-

Williamson. If you need my help, I can give you my number, or Instagram,” she said.

He walked out and smiled.

“Thank you. I have a job. And I have a home, here, for the time being I’m OK. Nobody has ever come back here to knock on my door. You are a kind girl,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

“Rory,” he said. Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1047

They shook. She could see red marks, burns, peeled flesh atop his arms and hands. They hurt to look at. She had compassion. She wanted to take him out of here, bring him home, rescue him. Her adolescent heart almost made an offer.

“I think you better go now. They might think it odd for a man like me to be alone with a girl like you. It’s

2017 you know. I am OK. You are kind for looking out for me. Don’t ever lose that,” he said.

Mom texted again, “Where are you!”

“Good-bye Rory,” she said.

She walked backwards and waved. And he waved back as he stood on the steps of his RV. Then she hurried to her mother, to the car and the Chinese cabinets, leaving him behind to resume his work, and life.

END

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1048

Exiles Under the Bridge Hurvitz, Andrew 1049