A Different Outsider
Part 1: The Tulsa Project
Chapter 2
It was late afternoon when Dally awoke. Dusty light filtered in through the blind slats on the window. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger, using his other arm to prop himself up.
His memories of the night before were fuzzy, and he tried to recall the reason for his sudden amnesia. He remembered having a couple drinks; he could take his liquor, so that couldn't be it. A flash of Sylvia passed through his mind, too, and he wondered if she had a part.
Dally sat there for a while, slowly coaxing the memory from the deep recesses of his mind. It came in bits and pieces for the first few minutes- a sly, red-lipstick smile here or a fist glittering with a class ring there- before he could finally recollect it in full.
As he'd suspected, it did have something to do with Sylvia.
"Since when do you read?"
Dally looked up to find Sylvia leaning against the doorframe to the room. Her ash brown hair fell around her face, casting a shadow that hid her eyes. She wore a rather revealing blouse and a short denim skirt, which, by the looks of the thread hanging from the hem, had been cut by herself. From her heavily made up face- complete with a smoky eye shadow and red lipstick- to her skimpy outfit, he could tell that she had dressed to please tonight.
Well, she was going to have to go find someone else to flaunt herself to because he wasn't falling for that tonight.
He was laying down when she came in, and so she sat herself at his feet. She began to walk her fingers up and down his leg, along the seams of his jeans, going higher and higher.
"I'm not in the mood, Sylvia," he said from behind the newspaper.
She let out a pouty sigh and he rolled his eyes. "What, is Tim beginning to bore you?" he asked, bending the newspaper away from his face so he could catch her reaction. He'd put her off guard, just as he'd hoped, but it only took a moment for her to regain her composure.
"I don't know what you mean," she replied innocently, turning her head and fluffing the ends of her hair with a bare shoulder.
"Really? 'Cause the whole East Side seems to know about you running around with him while I was in the slammer."
Sylvia rolled her eyes but didn't reply. Dally could tell she wasn't in a difficult mood tonight. If it were any other night, she'd have chewed him out and gone on and on about his absence being his own fault, and how she got bored, and that she was a woman who "needed to be kept," and whatnot. No, she wanted something, and tonight, Tim apparently didn't have what it took to give it to her.
"C'mon, let's go downstairs," she whined, reaching over and tugging at his arm.
"No," he snapped. "Leave."
Something sparked in her eye, and she raised her eyebrow. The flirty Sylvia was disappearing; no one turned her down.
"Oh really? Well I say you're coming downstairs, and you're going to enjoy Buck's party with me."
Dally looked up again and met her eyes. They held his steadily, defiance gleaming in them. She was not about to let this go.
He wouldn't get any peace until he pleased her. Dally figured he might as well go and get this over with. But, in some weird way, he kind of wanted to go. She wasn't giving him a choice and Dally liked that. Missed it even.
"Alright."
Things had gotten worse after drinks came into play. He shouldn't have gone downstairs in the first place, but Sylvia was persuasive.
They stood at the bar, Sylvia pressed next to him like they were attached at the hip. The lights in the house were dimmed low, and sweaty bodies- some scantily clad- bumped into one another as they bobbed to the beat of the music.
"Dance with me," Sylvia teased, batting her mascara-thick eyelashes.
"Nah," Dally replied, nonchalantly. For one of Buck's parties, it was a bore, and the last thing he wanted to do was dance to a Beatles song.
"But you promised," she pouted.
"I didn't promise nothin'."
"Didn't promise what?"
Tim Shepard appeared out of thin air, his thick eyebrows raised in question.
Dally pulled himself out of his bored, glazed state and focused on Tim. He started to answer, but Sylvia spoke before he could.
"He didn't promise he wouldn't try nothin' with me."
Sylvia was no longer by Dally's side and was instead leaning against Tim. A sly smile broke across her lips as she watched her words settle in.
In a moment, a realization struck Dally: he'd been set up. That two-timing witch.
It took Tim a little longer to understand what Sylvia was getting at, but as soon as it dawned on him, a bright red color had erupted across his face and his anger rose. "I turn my back for five minutes and already you're hitting on my girl?"
Dally turned to face Sylvia, who wasn't even trying to hide her amused look. Dally didn't like to fight girls, but right in that moment he would have loved to knock Sylvia's pretty little teeth out. "You dirty little broad," he spat.
She didn't even blink an eye, and glared right back at him with an even look.
"You leave her outta this!" Tim yelled, pushing Sylvia behind him.
He shoved Dally and he shoved him back. Somebody- Buck maybe- yelled at them to take it outside…
After that the memory got blurry again. Dally vaguely remembered Tim getting a good punch in, his (stolen) class ring and all connecting with the side of his head. Well, there was the answer for knot on his head and the amnesia.
Dally lay back against the pillow. He'd screwed up. Again. He could blame Sylvia all he wanted but he really had gotten into this all by himself.
Dally remembered Darry talking to him a few days before. Dally told him he wanted to straighten up a bit- he had a plan in mind and everything. But Darry was right; if he wanted it to work he'd have to get serious. And falling into Sylvia's antics and fighting with Tim wasn't exactly what you would call getting serious.
Dally picked up the paper that lay folded on the floor. He opened up to the page he'd been on the night before. JOB LISTINGS, it read.
He wiped his hand over his face and sighed. He needed to straighten up. For Johnny.
The district of Greenwood was a quiet neighborhood. The motel Becky stayed at a few nights before was only the worst of it. Most of the buildings were still in good shape despite the devastating effects of the Tulsa Race Riot, back in the 20's.
According to Mrs. Carter, the apartment owner's mother, it had been full and thriving, once. Back then, the district had been known as the "Black Wall Street." It had everything, from nice restaurants to the hottest nightclubs. Mrs. Carter used to sing in one, all of those years back.
She told Becky all of this as they sat at the kitchen table in the Harrises' apartment, waiting for Mrs. Carter's daughter, Mrs. Harris, and her granddaughter Penny to come home. Becky had been sitting there for almost an hour, listening to the stories of Mrs. Carter's singing days. They really were interesting, and she was loving to listen to them, but the nagging in the back of her mind made it hard for her to pay attention.
She had met that man and his friend for a third time last night, and she had to meet them again tonight. They knew about the situation with Becky's mother, and so Becky had been going to see them alone.
Things had gone smoothly so far. There was only one tricky part to the plan, though: where they could meet up. Two white men meeting a black girl at a restaurant on the North side would be suspicious, and meeting on the West side again, at the school where the first man worked at, would start to cause trouble. The only place left where they had connections was on the East side, at a low key diner. After much heated debate (one man complained that there were too many delinquents roaming around, the other man argued it was fine and that he had been going since he was a boy), they decided that would be the "safest" place.
The front door opened, stopping Mrs. Carter's storytelling, and arising Becky from her mind. A woman walked into the apartment, a girl trailing not far behind. They both had paper bags full of groceries in their arms, and Becky jumped up to help as their contents teetered over the edges.
Mrs. Carter waved at her to sit down and rolled her eyes into the direction of the woman. "She wouldn't take help if her life depended on it," she muttered.
In a flash, the woman was un-bagging the groceries and putting them into their places in the cabinets. The girl stepped aside and let her take charge. She took a moment to look around the apartment before she noticed Becky.
Becky met the girl's doe-like eyes, and did her best to smile politely, quirking her lips into what probably looked more like a smirk. Becky never had been the best at smiling on demand, or at least looking pleasant. It was something, as her mother used to mutter, that she had gotten from her father.
"Well, who do we have here?" The woman had finished putting her shopping items away and now faced Becky, taking in the new guest.
"I'm Ava Harris," she added, sticking her hand out over the counter for Becky to shake.
Becky took the woman's hand in hers, softly saying, "Rebecca Richardson."
"Richardson?" Ava mulled the name over for a moment, clucking her tongue. "I think I got a call from a woman with that name. Your mother?"
"Aunt," Becky corrected.
"Yes, that's right. She rented one of our one-rooms for the two of you."
Becky nodded in agreement, deciding not to mention the fact that her aunt would be gone two weeks at a time, going back and forth from Abilene.
Before a short silence could fall, Ava clapped her hands and turned to her daughter. "Penny, why don't you take Ms. Rebecca to your room for a minute? Maybe show her your record player," she suggested.
"Yes'm," Penny replied before walking off with Becky in tow.
Penny's room was small, and from the looks of it, she shared it with someone. The whole room was a faded white color, but one half was covered in pictures. Becky recognized a few faces: Marvin Gaye, Al Green, Anita Baker, the Four Tops.
Becky stood in the doorway as she watched the girl go to her dresser and pick up a record. Carefully, Penny pulled it out of its sheath and set it up on the player.
"You like the Temptations?" she asked, taking a seat on the rug-clad floor.
"Do I," Becky replied as she went to sit with Penny, tucking her legs underneath her.
They sat without speaking, listening to the tune playing.
"…what can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl. I'm talking 'bout my girl. My girl!"
"Becky?" Ava's head appeared in the doorway. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
Dinner? Becky thought.
She had almost forgotten about tonight and the fourth meeting.
"I can't!" Realizing how brash she sounded, she reiterated her words. "I mean, I'm sorry; I'd love to but I can't. My cousin is stopping in town for a couple hours and they invited me to dinner."
Ava waved her hand, brushing off her apology. "Oh that's fine, hun. We'll have to get together another time."
Becky was glad Mrs. Harris had left it at that; she didn't want to come up with yet another lie. It was almost scary how good she had gotten at telling them.
She stood up to leave, thanking Ava and Penny on her way out. With a wave to Mrs. Carter, she was out the door and on her way.
After stopping by the new apartment to bathe and change into a fresh, canary-yellow dress, Rebecca walked to the bus stop, four blocks away.
She found of a free seat next to an old man who politely moved his cane so she could sit. The seats were right where the "white-only" border ended and where the "colored-only" one began. It scared her to be sitting so close. What if she was mistaken and she had crossed over onto the wrong side? Though she knew she hadn't, the dirty looks she was getting from a middle-aged white lady two rows ahead wasn't making her feel too hot.
Becky hated riding buses.
After a tense ten minutes, the bus finally halted at the stop. Becky slipped off with the small crowd of greasy-haired, leather and denim clad people, trying not to draw attention to herself. The looks she would get, from white and colored people alike, if they saw her get off on the East side!
She walked a block, as she'd been told to do, staying in the shadows. If anyone saw her…
Becky made it to the meeting place- the back way behind a laundromat- where a station wagon sat waiting. A man stepped out to greet her.
"Miss Richardson," he said with a slight nod.
"Hello, Mr. Syme."
He opened the back door for her and climbed back into the shotgun seat, the other man starting up the car.
"How's your mother, Rebecca? You see her lately?" the driver asked as he pulled away from the back lot.
"They've been busy at the hospital," she replied quietly.
He nodded with understanding and shifted his eyes from the rear view mirror and back to the road. For the rest of the ride, it was silent.
It wasn't long before they pulled into the next back lot- this one behind a diner.
"This is the East side, Jonathon. Are you sure this is safe?" the man asked as he put the car in park.
Mr. Syme rolled his eyes. "It was safe the first time we checked it out, wasn't it? And anyway, this isn't the worst of them there is, Walter. I could've picked The Dingo and a girl got shot there some time back."
The other man clenched his jaw, clasping the steering wheel tightly for a moment. He closed his eyes. "If anything happens to her, the Court'll kill us."
"I know."
Walter unbuckled his seatbelt. "Well, let's just get this over with. We have a lot to go over before next month."
He came around to the other side of the car and let Becky out. Mr. Syme had already gone ahead to let their "connection" know they were there. They walked through the back alley and up to the back door of the restaurant. Walter stood behind her as they waited.
After a few minutes, the door swung open.
"After you," Mr. Syme said, with an ushering gesture as he held the door open.
"Heard that we got ourselves a nigger."
The word stung Johnny's ear as two boys, dressed in denim jackets and jeans with cowboy boots, walked by snickering. He liked that word as much as he liked hearing the word "greaser" directed toward him every time a Soc drove past him in one of their shiny cars.
He didn't bother to look around to see what they had been laughing about; his head hurt too much. He'd felt fine the first few days he had been back, but lately headaches and back pains had been sneaking up on him. He wondered if it had anything to do with his miraculous recovery…
"Whatcha thinking 'bout, Johnnycake?"
Ponyboy had asked the question, the boredom clear in his voice.
"Nothin'," he replied, fiddling with the sugar dispenser.
A silence fell across the whole table after that. Darry was sitting with them so of course Ponyboy had little to say, and Steve and Sodapop were hanging around the jukebox, with at least half a dozen girls trying to hang off of the Curtis brother's arm.
They were at a new place tonight, The Red Rooster. Dally had suggested they come here as part of his plan for Johnny to lay low. Johnny had been here only once before, when The Dingo was temporarily closed for the investigation of the girl who got shot. It was a less eventful, less advertised restaurant with a mixed crowd. Mainly greasers and hitchhikers from south of the border. But, the owner managed to keep the place in check and under the radar and so the place stayed in business.
"Hey, scooch, will ya."
Johnny looked up to find that Dally had arrived. Nodding silently, he scooted down on the bench, closer to Ponyboy, letting Dally into the booth.
Noticing that Dally had arrived, Sodapop and Steve came strolling back from the jukebox, Soda's collar popped up and his hair tousled from all of those girls.
"Hiya, Dal!" Soda greeted.
He squeezed in next to Darry, Steve sliding in next to him.
"Where's Two-Bit?" Dally asked, sticking a toothpick in his mouth and rolling it with his lips.
"Tryin' to get the some booze out of the waitress," Steve drawled, jutting his chin over to where Two-Bit stood at the counter.
The waitress had a bored look on her face, as she crossed her arms over her chest. Two-Bit spoke animatedly, using a lot of hand gestures, though to no advantage it seemed. After a few more minutes of arguing, he came loping towards them.
"No dice," he said once he'd arrived at the table. He managed to muster up an ounce of dejectedness, the grin on his face supposing otherwise. Life was a game to him, and if there was one thing Two-Bit wasn't, it was a sore loser.
Two-Bit pulled up a chair, sitting it at the head of the table. "Did ya'll hear the news?"
"What news?" Dally asked, leaning over the back of the booth to beckon a waitress.
"Somebody colored is coming here."
"There are plenty of colored people here already. All of them hitchhikers from Mexico," Ponyboy pointed out.
"Nah, I mean I heard them talking about someone from the north, a black person."
A black person on the East side was uncommon. They usually kept to themselves, on the North side. They didn't go bothering the greasers and the greasers didn't go bothering them. It was mainly the Socs who they had a problem with. It seemed like the Socs always had to go at it with somebody.
"Ah, you're full of crap, Two-Bit," Steve said, rolling his eyes.
"I am not! If anything-"
"Cut it out, will ya?" Darry snapped. "The waitress is here."
A girl timidly approached their booth, pulling a pad and pencil out of the front pocket of her apron. "Can I take your order?"
"Sure ya can, doll," Sodapop cheerfully replied with a wink.
"Hey, whatcha want to eat?" Dally nudged Johnny's side, getting his attention. At the touch of his elbow, a wave of pain hit him, going from his side to his lower back, and Johnny groaned softly.
"Sorry, kiddo. My bad." Dally's eyes softened at the sight of his discomfort.
Johnny brushed off the apology with a shake of his head. "S'okay. And I'll just have a cheeseburger. With everything."
"What about you, Pony?"
"Same as Johnny."
Dally nodded, a shadow of guilt still in his eyes, and turned away to spout off the orders to the waitress...
The food came quickly, and they ate in silence, without the usual distractions of The Dingo to add some liveliness to their night. It was still light out when they were done, the sun beginning to lower in the sky.
Sometime after a busboy came and took their finished plates, Two-Bit broke the quiet. "Well would you look at that; I was right!"
The gang turned to see what Two-Bit was looking at. In a booth hidden in the back of the restaurant, by the doors that led to the kitchen, was a black girl, sitting across the table from a white man.
Two-Bit turned and looked at Steve, smirking smugly. "Chew on that, ya sonuva-"
"Hush up would you, Two-Bit. You're making a scene. She obviously doesn't want to be seen," Ponyboy hissed.
The girl held her hand to her brow, her fingers going into her hairline as she shielded her face from the view of those around her.
Johnny guessed Ponyboy must have been feeling empathetic, from what he'd told him about being gawked at all day, at school.
"I ain't tryna make a fuss, kid. I was just pointing her out."
"Well, you've seen how it's been on the news. The last thing this place needs is for someone to start something."
Two-Bit snorted. "That's exactly what this place needs- some publicity. Word gets around and this place will be crawling with people coming to get a look at her."
"Quit talkin' about her like that. She ain't a zoo animal."
"Oh, didn't mean it like that, just that people would be interested in the first integrated restaurant on the East side."
Two-Bit did have a point there. But nobody was about to tell Two-Bit (Two-Bit of all people!) that he was right. So, instead, Ponyboy mumbled out a, "Sure, Two-Bit, whatever you say," and rolled his eyes.
A moment passed, and Two-Bit had forgotten all about the girl, turning to Dally and managing to get a rise out of him. It sounded like he'd said something about his on-and-off-again girlfriend, Sylvia. Johnny wasn't sure; he was too busy focusing on the girl.
Her skin was a light brown, the same color of Darry's coffee, the way Johnny had seen him take it: black, no sugar, with lots of cream. In contrast to her light skin, her eyes and hair were dark. Her eyes were like midnight, but bright and alert, and her hair fell past her ears in tight, coarse curls. Her hair was unlike any black girl's he'd seen, their hair either pushed up into an afro or straightened. Her hair seemed to be in between, a mix of the two styles.
A feeling of familiarity passed over Johnny as he looked at her ears. They were a funny thing, defined and pointed, with the ends sticking out of her kinky hair. But, he knew for a fact that he'd never seen her before and the feeling went away.
Glancing over at Ponyboy, he saw that he was watching her too. They seemed to be the only ones looking at her, which was a good thing in this case.
"Ya think that's her dad or something?" Johnny whispered.
"Nah, I don't think so. Can't be."
A black person on the East side was almost unheard of but relationships between races was even more so. Of course people talked about these types of hookups. It was rare though. To some, sex was sex but even racism seemed to touch this topic too.
Another man approached that table; he had just back come back from the bathroom. He didn't box her in against the wall or look at her in some dirty way, and instead took a seat next to the other man, leaving the girl by herself on the other side of the table. Johnny could see it wasn't one of those types of meetings.
"Oh Lord," Ponyboy suddenly moaned.
Johnny glimpsed at his friend again and saw that his ears were turning red, spreading to his cheeks and to his neck.
"What it is, Pone?"
"That's…that's my teacher."
"So?"
"I think he saw me. Oh Glory, he'll want to come over here and talk to Darry. Oh Lord, no."
"What's up with the kid?" Dally asked, joining their conversation.
He had had enough of Two-Bit at the moment, and he turned his back on him to face them. ("Ah, c'mon, Dal, you know I was just teasin'," Two-Bit called, only half apologetic.)
"His teacher is here from school," Johnny explained.
If he wasn't so sympathetic, he might've rolled his eyes. Well, Dally did it for him.
"And? This is our territory, not his. He has no rule here."
"He apparently does if he was able to get her in here," Ponyboy retorted as he gestured his eyes to where his teacher, the man, and the black girl sat.
"Ya know, you've been getting' real sassy lately. Don't think I wouldn't be doing Darry a favor by beating that attitude outta you." Dally's eyes were ice cold blue and serious. Johnny was scared to see what happened if even he opened his mouth now.
Ponyboy swallowed and looked down at the table. He was a tough kid- he could take any threat Dally could think up- but he still was just a kid. And it couldn't be easy with Darry on his back and now Dally too.
"He don't mean nothin', Pony," Johnny mumbled, trying to cut him a break.
Ponyboy shrugged it off, like it was nothing, but still slightly nodded his head.
"Alright, I think it's time to head home. You have school tomorrow, kiddo," Darry announced.
They all stood to leave, stopping by the register at the front so Darry could pay the bill. Johnny didn't think much of it when that man- Ponyboy's teacher- got in line behind them to pay his own check.
They were turning to go when he called them out.
"Hello, Ponyboy."
The younger boy tensed and froze on the spot. The color left his cheeks once more. Johnny could see his worst fear written on his face: his teacher would give some horrid report to Darry and his life would be over.
But that was it. "I'll see tomorrow and class, then," he concluded with a nod of his head as he stepped up to the register.
Once out to the station wagon, Ponyboy darn near passed out with relief.
(A/N): Hey guys! I know, I've been away for a while. So much testing came up and FINALS. I planned to have this chapter up sooner, along with the next one. But, summer's coming to an end now and my plan to post more chapters has slowed down a bit. I'm working on Chapter 3 and I hope to have it up very soon, depending on my schedule. Review please! Thanks so much!
-DazzlinPinkLemonade
