“What happened?”

“They humiliated him.” She shook her head. “You know their tricks. They give people a literacy test: you have to read part of the state constitution aloud, explain it, then write it down. The registrar picks which clause you have to read. He gives whites a simple sentence, like: ‘No person shall be imprisoned for debt.’ But Negroes get a long complicated paragraph that only a lawyer could understand. Then it’s up to the registrar to say whether you’re literate or not, and of course he always decides the whites are literate and the Negroes aren’t.”

“Sons of bitches.”

“That’s not all. Negroes who try to register get fired from their jobs, as a punishment, but they couldn’t do that to Grandpa because he’s retired. So, as he was leaving the courthouse, they arrested him for loitering. He spent the night in jail—no picnic when you’re eighty.” There were tears in her eyes.

The story hardened George’s resolve. What did he have to complain about? So, some of the things he had to do made him want to wash his hands. Working for Bobby was still the most effective thing he could do for people like Grandpa Summers. One day those Southern racists would be smashed.

He looked at his watch. “I have a meeting with Lyndon.”

“Tell him about my grandpa.”

“Maybe I will.” The time George spent with Maria always seemed too short. “I’m sorry to hurry away, but do you want to meet up after work?” he said. “We could have drinks, maybe go for dinner somewhere?”

She smiled. “Thank you, George, but I have a date tonight.”

“Oh.” George was taken aback. Somehow it had not occurred to him that she might already be dating. “Uh, I have to go to Atlanta tomorrow, but I’ll be back in two or three days. Maybe over the weekend?”

“No, thanks.” She hesitated, then explained: “I’m kind of going steady.”

George was devastated—which was stupid: why would a girl as attractive as Maria not have a steady date? He had been a fool. He felt disoriented, as if he had lost his footing. He managed to say: “Lucky guy.”

She smiled. “It’s nice of you to say so.”

George wanted to know about the competition. “Who is he?”

“You don’t know him.”

No, but I will as soon as I can learn his name. “Try me.”

She shook her head. “I prefer not to say.”

George was frustrated beyond measure. He had a rival and did not even know the man’s name. He wanted to press her, but he was wary of acting like a bully: girls hated that. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. With massive insincerity he added: “Have a great evening.”

“I sure will.”

They separated, Maria heading for the press office and George toward the vice president’s rooms.

George was heartsick. He liked Maria more than any girl he had ever met, and he had lost her to someone else.

He thought: I wonder who he is?