“Verena, they’re standing in the way of the civil rights bill. Just tell Dr. King to get rid of them—please.”

Verena sighed. “I think he will. It’s taking a while for his Christian conscience to get around to the idea of spurning loyal longtime supporters, but in the end he’ll do it.”

“Thank the Lord for that.” George’s spirits lifted: for once he could go back to Bobby with good news.

Verena salted the steaks and put them in a frying pan. “And now I’ll tell you something,” she said. “It won’t make any goddamn difference. Hoover will continue to leak stories to the press about how the civil rights movement is a Communist front. He would do it if we were all lifelong Republicans. J. Edgar Hoover is a pathological liar who hates Negroes, and it’s a damn shame your boss doesn’t have the balls to fire him.”

George wanted to protest but unfortunately the accusation was true. He sliced a tomato into the salad.

Verena said: “Do you like your steak well cooked?”

“Not too much.”

“The French way? So do I.”

George made a couple more drinks and they sat at the small table to eat. George embarked on the second half of his message. “It would help the president if Dr. King would call off this damn Washington sit-in.”

“That isn’t going to happen.”

King had called for a “massive, militant, and monumental sit-in demonstration” in Washington, coinciding with nationwide acts of civil disobedience. The Kennedy brothers were appalled. “Consider this,” George said. “In Congress, there are some people who will always vote for civil rights and some who never will. The ones who matter are those who could go either way.”

“Swing voters,” said Verena, using a phrase that had come into vogue.

“Exactly. They know that the bill is morally right but politically unpopular, and they’re looking for excuses to vote against it. Your demonstration will give them the chance to say: ‘I’m for civil rights, but not at the point of a gun.’ The timing is wrong.”

“As Martin says, the timing is always wrong for white people.”

George grinned. “You’re whiter than I am.”

She tossed her head. “And prettier.”

“That’s the truth. You’re just about the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you. Eat up.”

George picked up his knife and fork. They ate mostly in silence. George complimented Verena on the steaks, and she said he made a good salad, for a man.

When they had finished they carried their drinks into the living room and sat on the couch, and George resumed the argument. “It’s different, now, don’t you see? The administration is on our side. The president is trying his best to pass the bill we’ve been demanding for years.”

She shook her head. “If we’ve learned one thing, it’s that change comes faster when we keep up the pressure. Did you know that Negroes are getting served by white waitresses in Birmingham restaurants now?”

“Yes, I did know that. What an incredible turnaround.”