Chapter 10

When I got to State on Monday, I headed for the library. While driving down (Ann had agreed to my taking the car, providing I filled the tank) I decided that I'd look at Gillespie's article on Meredith before meeting Jim for lunch. So, having fed a lot of coins into a "forever" meter (one that let me park for more than two hours), I headed for the bibliography, found the entry, and went off to discover a space where the volume of English Studies should have been. I gave up easily and went off to the cafeteria for coffee.

I extracted a San Diego Union from one machine without maiming myself and a styrofoam cup of a brownish liquid from another.

"Go ahead and snub me," came a female voice.

"What?"

"I said 'Go ahead and snub me.' But I gather it was inadvertent." She was wearing jeans and a twin to the elastic top that secretary had been wearing last week. But Nan had a lot more to reveal under that top.

"I wouldn't snub you for anything. Hello. Does everyone around here tell you what a knockout you are?"

"No. Hardly ever. The guys either stare bug-eyed or make crude suggestions. Most haven't the balls to say anything." Her smile heated my coffee. "Thanks. I appreciate the compliment." Pause. "Even though it's a sexist remark."

"Wrong. Telling a woman that she's beautiful is no more sexist than telling her that she's short or has blonde hair. It's the use to which terms or remarks that may be sexist, not the terms themselves."

"Hey, that's good! Can I quote you at my group?"

"What?"

"My women's group. We meet every week. What you said was worth repeating."

"Now you're flattering me."

"OK. Truce. Where are you heading?"

I tried to think of an adequate response but failed. I tried to think of what to do next and failed again. I was standing in the middle of a cafeteria at San Diego State University with the most beautiful woman I'd ever met. It was obvious what I ought to do. But I couldn't figure out how to get her into a motel room. Fornication is a simple process, but how to convince this vision to come away with me was more complex. The realization of just how innocent I was was appalling. The lone sexual encounter I'd had with anyone else since marrying Ann had been at an MLA meeting in Chicago with a willing but uninteresting colleague from a midwestern college. God only knew where she was now.

"I was going to talk to Professor Singleton," I heard myself say.

"She's not in. She told me Friday that she had to see some lawyer." My escape route was cut off.

"Want some coffee?" Gesturing with my cup.

"Yes. But not that slop. Look, if you want to see Aunt Alice, you'll have to wait. Why don't you let me make you some real coffee? I live right near campus."

Unbelievable! My fantasies come true! An opportunity and I was the one getting picked up. Another victory for women's lib.

"Great!" I looked at my watch. "But I need to meet Jim at noon." I tossed my still-full cup into a bin, not even splashing myself.

As we walked across the quadrangle, I tried a conversational gambit. "Your family lives right near campus?"

"No. My family lives in Ramona. I guess I 'live' there. But I've got a friend who owns a house between here and Hardy, and I stay there during the week. Usually I go home for weekends."

"Hardy?" We were passing the library, veering towards the football field.

"The elementary school just west of campus."

"Oh." We emerged from the campus proper.

"My family is a very strict one. I'm the first female to go to college. And graduate school." Nan laughed. "My brother and my cousins went on to become doctors and lawyers. It's a big deal to be a Chicano doctor or lawyer."

"How do your parents feel about your studying?"

"Uneasy. But my older brother Carlos and my younger brother Sebastian told them how important it was for our people to have our own teachers. So they say it's OK. Carlos is a resident up in Palo Alto now. He's only a year older than I am. Sebastian is at UCSD. But my parents aren't really happy about me. They think I should be married and supplying them with grandchildren." She stopped walking and turned to face me. "And I don't even think I want to be a teacher. I think I want to keep on studying and maybe move east and be a professor and a scholar. Like Aunt Alice." She had tears in her eyes -- here I was, back in that traditional academic role: father-confessor and psychiatrist.

"Well," I said. "Nearly everyone has conflicts between what they want and what their family wants."

"I guess so. Turn right here. I'm not sure what I should do."

"You should do precisely what you think will be best for you in 30 or 40 years, when your parents won't be around."

"When my..." Nan had never thought about that time. Just as Karen had never contemplated the death of someone she knew.

It was a small house; similar to Gillespie's a few blocks away. It had been painted either green or blue, depending on the light and your color-sense. There was an immaculate lawn and some shrubs. A white Mercedes convertible stood in the driveway.