They were all laughing now, even Bernie Rosen, who was actually doubling up. She turned to the right and saw Barbara Gilbert covering her fat face, her body shaking with a spasm of giggles. Even Mr. Oates looked ridiculous, pounding his pen on the back of a chair. No one could hear it anyway.
Lois turned abruptly, reached over to the lectern, and got her script. She started off, stopped, and walked to the edge of the stage. When she got there, she took the script in her hand and flung it out like a Frisbee. It sailed into the lights, its pages flapping. A group of kids went for it as though it were a home-run ball hit by a major league star. Mr. Oates ran down the aisle shouting.
Walking off the stage quickly, Lois picked up her books and started up the left aisle. Students were yelling, “Beautiful, Lois,” “Great, Lois,” “An Academy Award performance, Lois.” She closed the auditorium door behind her, shutting out the jeers and laughter.
When she got to Sandburg, she didn’t stop at the store as she had promised her mother she would do. Instead, she started walking home, her attention riveted directly in front of her for the first quarter mile. Then she slowed down and eventually stopped. She stood there concentrating on her heartbeat and breathing. She was determined to slow them down. She took longer, deeper breaths, calming herself. When she was satisfied, she started walking again, but at a much slower pace.
Other than her own, there were no voices on this country road. The late March rains had discolored trees, making the white birch gray and the brown maples darker. The world looked muddy and soft. As always, she began to analyze herself, reviewing a list of emotions and feelings she was experiencing.
She had chastised herself for auditioning in the first place. What if she had gotten the part? It wouldn’t have been very enjoyable to work with those other kids, and Mr. Oates most probably didn’t understand the play he had chosen to direct, she thought. Now she criticized herself for rationalizing. “I’m simply trying to find a way to explain my own failure,” she said aloud. It was as if she had an invisible partner.
Then she thought, I would have gotten the part and done well if it weren’t for some of those jealous students who caused a commotion.
“Projection,” she said, “just another kind of alibi. You’re trying to relieve your own guilty feelings by projecting the blame onto someone else.
“I’m going to face the facts. I’m no actress; it’s not in me to be an actress. I have a different genetic plan. I’ll be applauded on a different stage and my work will be ten times as significant as any actress’s work. People will know my name,,and it will be because I have given them a greater gift than a good performance in a play.”
Those thoughts revived her somewhat, although ultimately she had to admit to herself that any kind of rejection was painful. She walked on. Her parents had told Billy to get off the bus in town, expecting that she would do the same and there would be no one home for him. The first thing she did when she got home was release her bat. It flew to where the wall met the ceiling and pressed itself into the crevice. She lay back on her bed and watched it shudder and move a few inches to the left, a few inches to the right.
How should it behave? she wondered. It had been shut into an alien environment, ripped out of the world it knew and made completely disoriented. She fed it, but it didn’t eat well. That was to be expected. Now, gaining freedom, it was afraid to take much more space than it had been confined to while imprisoned. Would a human being confined or imprisoned for a long period of time react the same way at first? Most likely, she thought. She wished she could put some of those idiots in the auditorium in a world as dark and as confining as the bat’s.
The ringing of the phone interrupted her thoughts. It was her mother. “Why didn’t you stop in town?”
“I didn’t feel like it.”
“But we told Billy to stop here. He’s been waiting for you.” Lois didn’t reply. “Did you go out for the play?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you do?”
“I didn’t do well. As a matter of fact, I made a fool of myself.”
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t do that. You probably did better than you think.”
“I walked off the stage, Mother. I don’t know what made me think I could do it in the first place.”
“Why shouldn’t you be able to do it? A girl with your gifts. You’ll try again. You’ll see, it’ll get easier. It’s always hard to do something new at first, but once—”
“I already know what I can and can’t do. I can’t act.”
“If you don’t try different things, you’ll never know what you can and can’t do.”
“I don’t have to make a fool of myself to know,” Lois said and quickly added before her mother could continue, “I can’t be a cheerleader, and I can’t be the prom queen, and I can’t be the most popular girl in the class.” She was losing control of herself; she could feel it. “And I can’t get a steady boyfriend or model designer jeans. And I probably won’t get engaged or marry a lawyer-doctor and live happily ever after in Westport. Do you understand?”
“Lois …”
“I am me. I do not belong on yearbook covers.” She slammed the phone down. The instant she did it she regretted it, not because of what she had done to her mother, but because of what she had done to herself. It was easy to analyze.
“Displaced aggression,” she said, turning to the image of herself reflected in the mirror across from the phone. “You wanted to yell at Mr. Oates and the students, even yourself, but instead, you yelled at your mother.
“She deserves it, though,” she replied.
“Good God, what am I doing? Developing a split personality?” She forced herself to be silent. This matter is closed, she thought and walked back to her room. She flopped on the bed again, but it took her a few moments to realize that the bat was no longer cowering on the wall. It was gone. A quick perusal of her room brought her to the realization that it was loose somewhere in the house. It was still loose somewhere when the family gathered for supper.
From the way her parents studied her and eyed each other at dinner that night, she knew that they had discussed her and made up their minds about something. The conversation that was about to take place was predesigned. She imagined her father even saying that he’d do most of the talking. They were unusually quiet during the meal, and when they did speak, they directed most of their words to Billy. She began to prepare herself mentally, finding a strange excitement in the anticipation.
“Billy, you can go into the living room and watch television. Mommy and I want to talk to Lois.”
“Why can’t I talk, too?”
“Because it’s a conversation only adults would understand,” Lois said quickly.
Gregory stared at her a moment, shot a quick glance at Dorothy, and then turned to Billy.
“Lois is partially right. It’s not a conversation you would enjoy.”
Billy got up and Lois began collecting the dishes from the table.
“We’ll do that later,” Dorothy said. Lois sat down again and looked calmly at her mother.
“Now, your mother told me about your outburst on the telephone,” Gregory began.
“I’m sorry,” Lois said. “It was displaced aggression. I should have sublimated my anger. I usually do.”
“Well, the phone call isn’t the entire reason for this conversation,” Gregory said, “but since you’re so analytical about yourself, let us be also. I think the outburst is really symptomatic of many things. Of course, there are the usual academic pressures. I can sympathize with that, even though you make much more demand of yourself than is being made of you by the school.”
“Are you listening to him?” Dorothy asked. From her perspective, it looked as though Lois were smiling and thinking of something else. She was indeed enjoying this so far. She was glad her father had chosen to take a distinctly formal tone. She welcomed the opportunity to intellectualize about herself.
“I’m listening. I’m just no
t sure what is the point of this entire conversation.”
Lois could see that her father did not relish the task. There was a redness about his cheeks. His eyes were small, his mouth tight. The veins in his temples rose against the skin. For a moment she considered his condition and wondered if it was wise for there to be this kind of tension. Usually her mother put an end to such things before they became intense.
“We think we’ve reached something of a crisis here,” Gregory said.
“Crisis?” Lois looked at her mother, who wore a face of stone. “What do you mean, ‘we’ve reached’?”
“We, meaning the family. What happens to one of us happens to all of us. Now,” he said, trying to achieve a calmer, more controlled voice, “your mother and I have been discussing the situation.”
“All this because of Barbara’s mother?”
“It’s not just that, although that’s a manifestation of it.”
“Of what?”
“Your fixation on scientific experimentation.”
“One thing leads to another,” Dorothy said quickly, anticipating Lois’s challenge.
“These experiments are educational and interesting, and it’s admirable for you to want to do some of them, but I think they’re getting out of hand.”
“Out of hand?”
“Bringing it all home. You don’t take a break from it, Lois,” he said pleadingly. “You’ve closed yourself into your private world so that when you have an opportunity to participate in other things—”
“Like the play? You think I deliberately failed at that. What do you think I am, some kind of Frankenstein?” They were both silent. She saw them as her accusers rather than as her parents. They reminded her of the kids in the auditorium. She regretted worrying about the tension this conversation would cause her father.
“Well, you don’t have the self-confidence you should have, Lois.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it isn’t,” Gregory insisted.
“It’s a ridiculous way to rationalize my failure and to alleviate Mother’s feelings of guilt.”
“What are you talking about, my feelings of guilt?”
“Yes, you think it’s a reflection on you and your glorified years of cheerleading and prom queening.”
“That’s unfair, Lois,” Gregory said. “It’s even cruel.”
“Nevertheless, it’s true.”
“That’s enough,” he snapped. “I’ve been somewhat blind here, and your behavior right now confirms it. Now, we’ve decided there will be some changes.”
“What changes?”
“First, I’m not going to hire a second counterboy this summer. You’ll work in the store with us.”
“But what about Billy?”
“He’s going to sleep-away camp. Second, there are to be no more experiments with animals in this house.”
“I want my pantry returned to being a pantry,” Dorothy added. “A house isn’t a place for rats and snakes and … all sorts of creatures.”
“You never complained before.”
“She complained. I just didn’t listen,” Gregory said.
Lois felt a sense of panic. Her eyes moved quickly from side to side. She sat back in the chair. Her parents, sitting across from her, looked threatening. They gaped at her. She thought herself trapped like one of her rats in the cage. Alternatives, options, she screamed to herself. They’re putting me in a maze.
“You’ve got to start thinking about college,” her father was saying. She could hear the words, understand and record them, but she wasn’t really listening. “You’ve got to get out more, meet people, become less introverted.”
“It’s for the best. Believe us,” her mother said.
“We’re not saying we want you to give up scientific inquiry,” Gregory said, “but you’ve got to develop some other interests too. We wouldn’t do this if we didn’t think it was important for you.”
“Daddy’s right.”
They were both afraid of silence now, she could see. They had to keep talking. It struck her then just how vulnerable they were, and that gave her a renewed sense of confidence.
“All right,” she said. “If this is what you want. I’ll take my stuff out of the pantry.”
“You won’t regret it,” Dorothy said, cheered by Lois’s quick surrender, but Gregory wasn’t as believing.
“It might be a good idea for you to start spending an hour or so in the drugstore now,” he said.
“I’ll try,” Lois said, “but I should tell you that I’ve been chosen to participate in a pilot program involving college courses for college credit.”
“I know,” Gregory said. “We received a call from the school. It’s a good idea. What are you going to take?” he asked, but before Lois could respond, they heard Billy’s scream. He came running into the kitchen.
“The bat! The bat!” he shouted, pointing toward the living room.
“What bat?”
“A bat? Oh, God, in the house?” Dorothy said, cringing.
Gregory got up and went out. Lois followed slowly, Billy right behind her. Lois’s fugitive bat had found its way into the living room and settled itself on the far wall, just above the television set.
“How the hell …” Gregory went for the broom. “Keep your eye on it,” he said. He returned quickly and swatted it hard. It practically bounced off the wall and onto the rug. “Get the dustpan,” he ordered. Billy went for it and brought it back to his father. Gregory swept the crushed animal off the rug. He looked at Lois for a moment and then took it outside to dump it into the garbage can.
“There must be more,” Dorothy said when he returned. She was close to hysteria. “How can I sleep, thinking about them? We’ve got to get a professional exterminator.”
“I’ll call one in the morning,” Gregory said softly, eager to placate her. “Don’t worry.”
“Go up and check our bedroom. Go on.”
“Take it easy. I’ll do it,” he said. He looked inquisitively at Lois. “I thought we had gotten them all.”
“I thought so, too,” Lois said.
He knew she was lying. Despite her inscrutable face and her unquivering voice, he knew. She was something different, his daughter, something colder, harder, tougher than he imagined. Perhaps it was too late. He looked down at Billy, who bit his lower lip and stared up at him.
“You see,” Dorothy said, her voice high-pitched now. “You see, you and your damn animals. They think they can all live here.”
“That’s silly, Mother.”
“It’s not silly. It’s not silly!”
“Dorothy, get hold of yourself.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mother,” Lois said. “I’m not going to have any animals in the house anymore, remember?”
“Oh, God,” Dorothy said. “Oh, God. Go up ahead of me, Greg. Go on.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” He paraded toward the stairs, pounding each step in his anger and frustration as he ascended. Dorothy, still cowering, followed slowly behind. To Lois, they looked somewhat comical.
So they didn’t want her working with the animals. Her mother wanted her pantry, and her father wanted her in the store. Yet they wanted her to keep her scientific interest. How interesting. How quaint.
She could do that—she could stop working with animals and yet experiment and learn. Her smile caught Billy’s attention. She was looking at him in the strangest way.
“Boy, that was scary.”
“It shouldn’t have been,” Lois said, reaching out and putting her hand on his head. “You should have remembered what I told you about bats and you should have been unafraid.”
“I couldn’t help it,” he said.
“Yes, you could, Billy. You will. I’ll help you. I’ll show you more.”
“Now?” he asked.
“Not right now, but soon. Soon.”
She drew him a little closer to her, and they both stood there listening to their mother’s hysterical ranting upstairs.<
br />
8
Professor Kevin McShane believed in coming late for his own classes. As an expert in behavioral psychology, he realized that anticipation whetted the appetite and the expectation. He especially enjoyed his first class with new students, comparing and contrasting them with animals in a maze.
“You’re in a controlled environment and I’m in total control of it. But don’t get too depressed about that. I’m about to show you how you move from one controlled environment to another all day, every day of your life,” he added, the twinkle in his powder-blue eyes complementing the tease in his voice, the dimples in his cheeks. He wore his thin red hair short, nearly military style. At six feet tall, he had a medium frame with athletic shoulders and arms. All of his gestures were gracefully slow, suggesting that he was rarely an impulsive man. Everything about him was neat and well organized. He had that old-fashioned Joe College look with his pullover sweaters and corduroy jeans.
Overwhelmingly popular with the student body, other faculty members, and staff, the thirty-year-old McShane would have been the most sought-after bachelor on campus if it weren’t for his serious and ever-growing relationship with Sherry Madeo, a tall, slim, Lauren Bacall type who was a four-year veteran of the drama department. Jealous secretaries had to admit they made a handsome couple as they walked over the campus or sat drinking coffee in the commons. Those who sat in on their conversations often witnessed a continual but friendly debate about the values of the sciences versus the humanities.
His developing romance did not prevent McShane from being a flirt in class. He loved to tease his female students, many of whom developed their own fantasy relationships with him before his classes were two weeks into session.
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