October 8, 1975
Toledo, OH
Pearl hadn't exactly relished the idea of spending time alone with Greg. Let alone a cross country road trip.
But they'd managed to drive about ten hours without killing each other, so that was a start. Admittedly, it had something to do with them not exchanging more than about twenty words the whole trip, only acknowledging one another's presence when they needed to make a rest stop or grab a quick bite from a roadside burger place. But the system seemed to work.
By now, they'd been in Toledo for the better part of two days. Not much of a city, though it had a nice art museum (sorry, Museum of Art - they were very insistent about that) and some decent restaurants and a nice view of Lake Erie, though too chilly this time of year for Pearl to enjoy it much. She liked warm weather, and she was still recovering from her assorted physical traumas, no matter how brave a face she put on things.
At first they had little idea of what to do and wasted time puttering around the town, lounging around the hotel or generally wasting time. Not really speaking with each other or sure how to proceed. Until Garnet gave them a phone call with the information gleaned from Sapphire. The name Damien Llewelyn was the key.
It was Greg who came up with the bright idea of posing as Llewelyn's family. Pearl should have known by now not to underestimate him. But then she still felt like she didn't know him at all.
"Yes, the Llewelyn farm's about twelve miles outside the city," a helpful clerk at the land registry office said. "Right outside Sylvania, I think, up near the Michigan state line. Nobody's been out that way so far as I know for a few years. Mr. Llewelyn moved back to Cardiff around 1968 and left it to some family members, but...they never showed up to claim the property."
"Um...surprise!" Pearl said. "Sorry it took so long, but we've been busy with, you know..."
She looked to Greg for help. This time, Greg shrugged, lacking an answer.
"Different things..." Greg added unhelpfully, rubbing the back of his head. Catching the clerk's suspicious glare, he fumbled for an answer.
"Business, work, travel...kinda hard to make time to check up on some old family holdings when you've got so much stuff going on, ya know? Especially a relative from Wales who you barely know. Still a bit surprised he gave us the farm in the first place, to be honest."
The clerk nodded, though there was still a skeptical glint in his eyes. But he didn't seem interested in pressing matters too much.
"Well, you're free to check out the place," the clerk said. "I can find you the address if you give me a moment."
"Sure, we're not in any hurry," Pearl said. Greg put an arm around Pearl's shoulder; she struggled to hide her discomfort with a smile.
The clerk rolled his eyes, then disappeared into a back room.
"And Garnet said we'd have to do primary research," Pearl muttered..
"Hey, I guess that's why she sent me," Greg said with a little boastfulness. "Always creative."
"Yes, well, you're certainly being creative with your attitude," Pearl complained, fussily brushing his arm off her shoulder.
"Jeez, I'm sorry," Greg said, mildly offended. "Didn't realize I was so dirty."
"It's not a matter of being dirty," Pearl sputtered. "Your hygiene seems...better than usual. It's just..."
Greg glared at her for a moment. Then nodded, realizing that he'd crossed some line and deciding not.
"Hey, it was a spur of the moment thing," he said apologetically. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable..."
Pearl sighed. "Didn't mean to be such a bitch," she said. Greg snorted at the word, surprised to hear Pearl swear.
She was trying. She really was. She thought they'd made some progress back in Beach City, but...apparently not. Still too much to overcome.
And she wasn't sure this was the time to set things right.
Pearl snapped out of her thoughts as the clerk reappeared. He wrote the address down on a small piece of note paper and passed it to her. She and Greg thanked the man and walked out to his van.
"Well, do we go out there now?" Pearl asked. "It's still pretty early."
"Eh, this town's kind of a dump," Greg admitted. "But, it is Ohio. I'm not sure what more there is to see."
"I'm sure parts of Ohio are nice," Pearl said. "But remember, we're not here to sight see."
"Guess you're right," Greg replied. "It's just...I dunno, I don't think there's any harm in taking in the local color."
"The local color is bland beige and grime black," Pearl said haughtily. "Not my ideal template for fun."
"Maybe we should wait for Garnet and Amethyst to come up here," Greg said. "Ya know, just in case there's somebody lying in wait, or we need to fight back or something like that."
Pearl felt another stab of insecurity, a ripple of pain from her still-healing wounds. She took Greg's words not as advice, but as a challenge.
"The more time we waste, the less time we'll have to prepare!" Pearl responded, louder and angrier than she intended. "Why do you want to waste so much time, Greg? Can't you take this seriously?"
"Whoa, I don't wanna waste time, Pearl," Greg insisted, raising his hands defensively. "And hey, unless you forgot, I got my head bashed the other day, too. I'm still having vision problems because of it. And yet I drove us most of the way up here. So I'd say I'm taking it pretty damn seriously."
Pearl stayed silent, not sure what to say or how to apologize. And angry at herself.
She'd always mess this up. No matter how much progress they seemed to make, she kicked them back to the starting point.
"I'm just saying," Greg said, a little more calmly, "you're still getting over being hurt. And I'm...you know I'm no good in a fight. I don't think I'd be a lot of help if we run into trouble. If we had Garnet and Amethyst here..." And he trailed off, sighing.
"I'm fine," Pearl said quietly. Though she wondered at that.
"Anyway...let's head back to the hotel and figure out what to do from there," Greg said in a monotone voice as he shifted the van into gear. "And I feel a bad headache coming on, anyway."
Pearl looked out the window forlornly, angry at herself for not being a better person.
Greg really did need to lay down. Getting beaten up and knocked unconscious wasn't a trip for him any more than Pearl.
As soon as they made it back to their hotel room, he turned the lights out, closed the blinds and...turned on the air conditioner.
"It's 40 degrees outside, Greg," Pearl scolded, feeling a shiver. "Do you really need it to be this cold?"
"Can't sleep without the AC," Greg grumbled, angrily fluffing the pillow.
"You slept at the beach house just fine," Pearl reminded him as she approached the AC, preparing to turn it off. "And it was much warmer there..."
"Pearl, can you just leave it alone?" Greg barked. "If you're uncomfortable, go down to the bar and, I dunno, get lunch or something. Or, hey, if you're up for solving this thing yourself...fine. Keys are on the nightstand. Just remember to bring 'em back when you're done."
And he pulled the blankets over his head and muttered.
Pearl felt a little shocked by his outburst. Usually Greg was pretty even-tempered and wouldn't shout or curse or anything, no matter how upset he was. But then, she reasoned, he did have a headache.
And I'm giving him perfect cause to be angry, Pearl reminded herself.
I really thought we were past this. But after all that's happened...we still can't even stand to be in a room together.
What would Rose think of me now? What would she think of us?
She sighed and exited the hotel room, trying not to cry. She did, however, slam her fist against the wall once she was out of sight. And stood there, fuming.
Greg had one of those hellish migraine headaches too intense to let you sleep, but too debilitating for you to move or think or do anything. Any time he so much as raised his head, he felt a stab of pain and a swirl of dizziness and nausea. He needed the room to be as dark and as quiet as possible, only the buzz of the air conditioner and the cool air giving him relief.
But he was still alone with his thoughts, and they were unforgiving.
Why are you and Pearl still like this? he wondered. It's been two years since Rose died. Goddammit, we're both adults. We should be better than this.
Pearl was a pill, he thought. Always had been. Always acted snotty and aloof around him, as if the very thought of Rose being with someone like Him was an appalling crime against reason.
But then, Greg often thought that himself. Just...not in a bad way.
He was grateful that Rose didn't see him the same way he often saw himself. Or others sometimes seemed to see him. Didn't matter that his music career was cratering or that he was getting old and starting to put on weight and lose his hair. What mattered to Rose was that he was Greg Universe.
He wondered if he idealized Rose too much. Certainly her death suggested that she was much less perfect than he'd realized. It was easier to put someone on a pedestal when you're in love...even easier when they're dead and gone and can't remind you of their flaws and imperfections.
And he wondered...no, he knew he gave Pearl too hard of a time over the years.
He understood why Pearl didn't want anything to do with him. He understood that he, too, could be stubborn and.
But she didn't even seem to try.
Except...she did. And he thought back to that night on the beach, when everything between them seemed okay for a moment.
When Pearl, despite looking and probably feeling like she was on death's door, came out to join them on the beach and ate his food and enjoyed his music and...liked spending time with him. Or at least didn't hate it.
So maybe their problem wasn't all her fault.
But Greg couldn't think of what more he could do to help Pearl and him move past this.
All could he think of is that, if nothing else, the two of them would have to put their bullshit aside to complete this damn mission, and hopefully not be killed in the bargain.
For Rose. For the Crystal Gems.
That's what mattered.
But first, he needed to sleep off this fucking headache.
Pearl didn't have the heart to go searching on her own. Instead she hung around the hotel bar, ordered a sandwich and an iced tea, absently looking through a travel guide for something local to do.
Television was on again. Again the damn hearings. Today they were interrogating someone from the Internal Revenue Service about past presidents' harassment of political opponents through taxes and audits. Pearl couldn't even pretend to care.
"Are these damn things ever gonna end?" someone asked to no one in particular. "They're still going on after all this, and for what? Just to make our country look bad."
"I hope they end soon," Pearl said in as cheerful a voice as she could manage, dumping a sweetener packet into her tea.
"You and me both," the man replied. "I hate what these people are doing to this country. Wrecking it so they can get headlines and applause. Well, fuck that."
Pearl made a distracted "hmm" sound as she stirred her tea. It was still too bitter for her taste, no matter how much sweetener she added to it.
She looked up and saw, to her surprise, that the man had taken her cordiality as an invitation to come over and vent. He was now pulling up a chair and sitting across from her. Pearl could see him wearing worn-out flannel work clothes, with unruly salt-and-pepper hair and unshaven stubble. He smelled heavily of cigarettes and aftershave.
"You see, I watch these hearings and I think...what are they even for? I mean, yesterday they were talking about stuff that happened back when Kennedy was president! That was, what, twelve years ago that they blew his head off! What does it matter now? Why does airing all this dirty laundry make any kind of difference?"
Pearl nodded and smiled politely, not sure what to say to him.
"Think about it, ma'am. Does it help you or me? Does it give people jobs? No. Does it fix the economy? Hell, no. It's just so the big gorillas on Capitol Hill can just beat their chest and make everyone feel angry and bad so they'll vote them for president."
Pearl's wry amusement turned to irritation, her smile fading into a smirk, then a grimace, then an angry glower.
Still, he blathered.
"None of these people have our interests at heart," he continued. "They're all the same. It's just about winning elections and making the other side look bad. And either way, they're gonna bring down the country. They're gonna make sure people don't trust their leaders and don't trust the functions of government and make America look bad. Like Communism is any better! Do you think Frank Church or Ted Kennedy would do well in Russia? No, they'd be in the gulag over there! Castro would put them in front of a firing squad! So why complain about what goes on here when there's so much"
And so he blathered on, about the moral fiber of the country being wrecked, about nobody having any trust in anyone any more, the death of Christian America. All a mixture of angry opinions, some relatively well-thought out, others recited from conservative editorials he'd read and half-digested, some nakedly contradicting each other. The Silent Majority's mindset laid bare.
Pearl was too polite to tell him to leave her alone. But she made her discomfort plain in every way; her expression, nervously shaking her legs under the table, fidgeting with her hands, looking past him to the wall and the clock and occasionally the television. But he either didn't get the hint, or didn't care.
"...And I think that's why they're doing this. To distract from how they're robbing us all blind and making our country weaker and more pathetic, which is the first step on the road to socialism. Which is why we need Ronald Reagan to be President in '76. Not this pansy-ass Jerry Ford, who's just another one of these wimpy weenie limp-wristed fake Republicans who pals around with the Rockefellers, and certainly not whatever idiot the Democrats are gonna dredge up to run against him. We need a real man to lead this country and save us from all this mess."
And what more real man is there, Pearl thought, than a washed-up actor whose most famous role was opposite a chimp?
"Don't you agree, ma'am?" he asked, fixing Pearl with an expectant smile. "I mean, does any of what I say make sense?"
Pearl took a deep breath, wondering if it was worth trying to answer his tirade. She collected herself until she managed a polite but even tone.
"Well, I do agree that few, if any leaders in Washington have our best interests at heart," she said. "But that doesn't mean that none of them act from good motives, or that it's impossible..."
"Oh, there are always exceptions..." the man interrupted.
"...And certainly there are ways to make a change, and abject cynicism towards everything won't achieve anything."
Pearl's voice showed her irritation. But her words evinced an optimism that she hadn't expressed in some time.
Peridot must have done a number on her.
"Hey, I'm not being cynical, I'm being realistic," the man insisted, with a smugness that made Pearl want to shatter his testicles.
"I don't think dismissing every attempt to make change in Washington as fake or phony is realistic," Pearl said. "Just defeatist. Nothing gets done with that attidue."
"Well, don't you think that's a bit naive, ma'am?" the man said, goading her on. "I mean, after all the shit that's come out over the past few years..."
"I don't understand what you're trying to say," Pearl admitted, growing flustered and losing patience.
"What part?" he said. "I can slow down and repeat it for you..."
"Please don't," she said, on the last shred of her patience. "You keep insisting that the government is corrupt and that everyone's out to get us and that they don't care about the people. And yet, when someone presents evidence of all the misdeeds you complain about, you dismiss it as a conspiracy! A liberal-socialist cabal to destroy America for God knows what purpose. That's ridiculous and self-contradictory and mindbogglingly stupid."
"That's because they're not doing it for the right reason and...Hey, did you just call me stupid?"
"What's the right reason then?" Pearl was shouting and she didn't care.
"And I'm sure you're one of those Pauline Kael types who sits around in your smug little bubble wondering how anyone could have voted for Nixon twice. Well, this is why."
"I don't wonder why. I know why. Because some people are filled with hate and resentment and serious grievances about things they don't want to change. So they blame blacks and women and queers and kids and foreigners and Communists and liberals and anyone else...anyone except the real people who are responsible. Everything except a system skewed towards corruption and complacency and exploitation and lazy bigotry. Because it's easier to punch down than to try and change what's really wrong with this country."
The man sat back, overwhelmed by Pearl's outburst.
"Well, that's all well and good, but you won't get anywhere calling people bigots..."
"Maybe some people deserve it," Pearl insisted.
"Hey, there's no need to call names or to get hysterical..."
"Excuse me, you asked me for my opinion, and now you won't even let me express it."
"No reason for you to get upset," he repeated with a coarse chuckle. "Shoulda known a lady like you would get emotional talking about politics..."
"There's plenty in politics to get emotional about," Pearl growled.
The man chuckled again. "There sure is," he said, nodding his head sarcastically. Pearl hated the smug, dismissive expression on his face, regarding her like a freak of nature, species Liberalus East Coastium, unheard-of in Real America.
"But shouting about how Congress and the media are gonna mix everything isn't gonna do it," he continued. "Neither is losing control of your emotions and getting angry when a man explains the truth of a hard-lived life to you."
He got close and breathed his toxic tobacco breath in Pearl's face. And he got mean.
"You've never worked a real day in your life, have you, sweetie?" he demanded, with a gator-like viciousness that made Pearl blanch.
Pearl growled and kicked him in the knees, as hard as she could.
The man yelped and leaped backwards, nearly knocking over his chair. Pearl responded by grabbing her tea and splashing it on his face. He fell backwards, sputtering in surprise.
"Hey ma'am, chill out," the man said. "No call for acting like this..."
"No call for your acting like a chauvinist ass," Pearl said, gathering up her purse and things.
"Just trying to have a friendly conversation," he sputtered. "Hey!"
He grabbed Pearl's arm and pulled her close. Pearl turned, snarling angrily, and looked directly in his hateful face.
She looked askance at the bartender, who was meekly and helpfully pretending not to notice their altercation. Then she wished that she had her sword with her.
She was quick and tough, but not especially strong. She just hoped she was quick enough.
Pearl kneed the man in the stomach, then struck him across the throat, sending him sputtering backwards. Before he could recover, she grabbed him by the shirt and threw him into her table, knocking her tea and plate and napkins on the floor. The bartender stared gape-mouthed.
"A lot of help you were," Pearl said. She straightened her hair, grabbed her purse and walked back to their hotel room.
She knocked on the door, loudly and firmly. Greg slowly, angrily dragged himself to answer it.
"Pearl..." he complained, squinting at the light.
"Pack your things, Greg. We're checking out."
Greg just rolled his eyes and groaned. He could tell from Pearl's expression that there was no arguing with her.
What a wonderful trip this has been, he thought, struggling just to maintain his balance as he unlocked the door.