Summer of '69(51)

Evan pulls a handkerchief out of his pants pocket and mops his brow. “I don’t know how I’m going to get it all the way up to the attic.”

“I’ve got it, man,” Darren says, stepping up.

“Darren?” Evan says, blinking behind his square glasses. “Darren Frazier? Where did you come from?”

Darren has, of course, been standing there all along. How did Evan not notice him? Was Ralph Ellison right—were Negro men invisible to white people? It had seemed like hyperbole when Kirby read the book for her English class, but now that she’s watching a real-life social interaction, she’s not so sure.

Darren lifts the box with ease. “Fresh arms,” he says, and Kirby thinks of how other guys might have flaunted their superior strength and stamina but Darren tries to downplay it. “We’re going to the attic?”

“The attic,” Kirby confirms.

Evan follows close on Darren’s heels up the two flights of stairs and, realizing he’s been shown up, offers to take the box back twice.

“I’ve got it,” Darren says. He’s not huffing or sweating and his biceps pop in a way that is undeniably attractive. Kirby brings up the rear, which means Evan can’t look up her dress. Darren is proving to be a hero for so many reasons.

Kirby opens the door to the attic, and the hot, stale air nearly knocks her over. It’s like having a damp mohair blanket thrown over her head. It’s suffocating.

“Right on,” Darren says. “I now understand the importance of this mission. You’ve been living up here?”

“I had a fan, but it broke,” Kirby says. She scans the room for any embarrassing personal items; if she’d known she would be having guests, and if she’d known one of those guests would be Darren, she might have staged the room a little better—hidden the box of Kotex, for example, and maybe draped a bikini top over the back of her chair. Maybe set her paperback copy of Invisible Man on her nightstand. Earlier, she’d pulled a copy of Emily Post off the bookshelves at the hotel, thinking it would help her with her job, and she hopes Darren doesn’t notice it splayed open on her bed; it seems hopelessly square.

Darren sets down the box, removes the air conditioner from the Styrofoam packing, then surveys the sole window. “Should fit?” he says. He looks to Evan, who shrugs, and Kirby’s hopes sink because she’s certain Evan didn’t bother to measure the window, so her dream of air-conditioning is short-lived. Darren sets the unit in the window; there are a couple of inches on each side.

Darren turns to Kirby. “Do you have a couple of books?”

This is Kirby’s chance! She rummages through an old attaché case of her father’s that she uses for her schoolwork. She brought six books for recreational reading but hasn’t yet cracked one. She picks two that she thinks will make her seem erudite and well-read—The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, by Muriel Spark, and The Ginger Man, by J. P. Donleavy.

Darren accepts them and holds up The Ginger Man. “Loved this one,” he says. “I loved it so much it seems a shame to use it for this purpose, but this is just temporary. I have a couple of two-by-fours in my garage that I can cut down to fit in the gaps.”

Kirby glances at Evan to see if he is hearing all this. Darren reads literature and he can cut down some two-by-fours to fit in the gaps of the window that Evan neglected to measure. Evan is standing back with his arms locked across his chest, glaring down at Darren. He isn’t even pretending to help anymore. Kirby is annoyed, but a second later, the air conditioner is installed. Darren plugs it in and turns it on. Kirby stands before the blast of deliciously cold air and closes her eyes.

“It’s heavenly,” she says.

“You’re welcome,” Evan says. “Please don’t make a big deal about it because I can’t afford air-conditioning for anyone else. It’s just that…it does get really hot up here.”

“Thank you,” Kirby says.



“Thank you,” Kirby says to Darren once they’re back down on the street.

“Evan bought you an air conditioner because he likes you,” Darren says. “It’s a twenty-six-pound love letter.”

“Please stop,” Kirby says. “I feel like I have to apologize for Evan. He just stood back and let you do all the work.”

Darren shrugs. “I offered. I wanted to impress you.”

Kirby grins. “You did?”

He reaches for her hand, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.



Because the day is overcast and people aren’t at the beach, the line at the Flying Horses Carousel is long. Darren buys their tickets and a box of popcorn for them to share while they watch people of all ages ride around on the antique horses, everyone grabbing silver ring after silver ring from the dispenser and stacking them on their animal’s ears. The last ring, Darren explains, is brass, and grabbing the brass ring wins you an extra ride. It’s a lot of hoopla for forty cents, he says, but it makes the ride more fun.

“Have you ever gotten the brass ring?” Kirby asks.

“Never once,” Darren says. “My mother used to say it was because I was so lucky in the rest of my life.”

Kirby says, “I don’t think your mother likes me. She gave me a dirty look at the beach the other day.”