America 1982-Chapter 334 - 25: Tony’s Best Choice
Los Angeles, Beverly Hills Estate.
Outside Tom’s residence, Martin was wiping the Cadillac’s body and turned to ask Page, who obviously had no intention of helping:
"I have a question, Mr. Page."
"Didn’t the teachers at community college ever teach you to think for yourself?" Page responded, looking wooden-faced at Tommy who was having a leisurely chat in the backyard with a young man. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢
That was Tommy’s brother Tony, who had traveled all the way from Maryland, whereas his girlfriend Ashley was setting up a grill with Sophia, Vanessa, and the housemaid Dorothy in an adjacent backyard space.
Hearing Page’s reaction, Martin stopped his wiping, threw the cleaning rag onto the car, and turned around to look at old Page:
"This is why you have such a bad reputation in the black communities of Los Angeles, Mr. Page. You lack affability. It’s just a question, there’s no need for me to feel like I’m being detained by the police every time I’m around you. Can’t you just smile and say, ’Hey, Martin, good to see you, what do you want to ask me?’ instead of sternly telling me that you’ve charged up that damn stun gun again, and if I don’t behave, to charge it promptly for you!"
"After black men disguised bombs as gifts and sent them to the police station, I lost the ability to smile at black people, especially when every week, I have to remember that past as I send a pitiful part of my paycheck to my deceased colleague’s widow and two children," Page said, glancing at Martin and then back to the distant scenery.
Although Martin knew about Page’s past, he had never lived in Long Beach, Los Angeles, nor had he witnessed Page’s behavior in killing, so he couldn’t comprehend the fear that black people had for Page. To him, even though Page always kept a stern face around him, he wasn’t as exaggerated as people claimed – just another white bastard who, aside from killing, had no other talents.
Martin nodded understandingly, "I’m sorry, Mr. Page. Really. But not all black people are those kinds of bad guys. For instance, me. Didn’t I give you a gift? A high-definition, enlarged copy of ’The Lincoln Proclamation,’ to constantly remind you that Lincoln proclaimed the freedom of black people and that in America, black and white people are equal. You can’t just go around zapping me! And besides the proclamation, a fine bottle of liquor, too."
"Are you talking about the time you came to me with a bottle of whiskey? If you hadn’t mentioned it, I wouldn’t have even realized it was a gift. That bottle of whiskey is said to be only seven dollars when discounted at the supermarket," Page glanced at Martin, "So you’re reconciling with white people and trying to be friends with a seven-dollar bottle of whiskey?"
"Back to my question, speaking of which, what exactly is Miss Sophia O’Connor to the boss? Secretary? Assistant? Deputy? Lover? I’ve seen her work lately; it’s way beyond what I’ve seen from Er’s secretary or Rick’s secretary. Look at her, she has to handle some of the boss’s work and then during the precious weekend, she still has to help the boss with the barbecue in the backyard. She seems more like the boss’s wife than Miss Farrell does." Martin curiously asked Page while looking towards Sophia.
He was well-acquainted with everyone else in the company, but Sophia’s position remained unclear. A secretary in the company was not supposed to be high-level management, but at BT, secretary Sophia was the complete opposite. Though she held the title of secretary, she seemed more like Tommy’s wife – managing everything in his absence.
Page said, "I’m not concerned with her identity, but if the boss would like to make my bank account as full of money as Miss O’Connor’s, I’d also be willing to do anything for him any time."
"Is the boss a drug lord? I mean, in Miami, the richest black people I saw made their fortunes with that stuff, and the boss’s generous demeanor seems a lot like those nouveau riche," Martin continued wiping the car’s body with the cloth, "I’m not speaking ill of the boss, he’s been very caring for me, but... I worry that one day the police will take him away, ending this life I’m living now."
"Drug dealers don’t make as much as the boss," Page retorted.
"Cut the crap. Unless the boss is literally swallowing banknotes and pooping out gold, there’s no way he’s making more than a drug dealer. He claims not to pay me a salary, yet every week I receive a check. In this world, good people like the boss don’t make a lot of money. That’s what the brothers in Miami say," Martin argued.
"So if the boss is making money, it either means that your black compatriots are wrong, or the boss isn’t the good person you think he is," Page pointed out.
"Mr. Page, Martin—" Dorothy came over from the distance, bringing an end to their argument, "Miss Sophia has asked you to arrange the cars and chauffeur. This afternoon she needs to take Miss Hurl shopping, and once that’s arranged, come join us for the barbecue."
...
Tony’s naval academy education was nearing its end. His trip to California was not only to accompany his girlfriend on a simple trip to Los Angeles but mainly to discuss with his younger brother his post-graduation service placement in the Navy.
Other students who entered the Naval Academy based on their own merits without recommendations had the freedom to choose whether to join the Navy upon graduation. However, he had no choice and was required to serve in the Navy for at least three years.
