Alma Mater

by Rita Mae Brown

  "God, Vic, he's gorgeous. To-die-for gorgeous." Chris wished she hadn't met him.

  "And he is the best guy. The more you know him, the more you'll love him."

  "I'm not sure I want to know him." Chris had suddenly lost her appetite.

  "Don't worry about him. You'll like him."

  "I feel like the world will push you into his arms."

  "Don't underestimate me." Vic's jaw set and then relaxed. "Okay, it's a little awkward. I mean, I've been dating him for a year and I love him, I love him for the person he is, but it's not the same. My life would probably be easier if it were, but it's not. If I hadn't met you, I would have never known. But I'm glad I met you now and not ten years later."

  Chris smiled, lowering her eyes and then raising them. "I thought it would be simple. Guess not."

  "Don't worry."

  "It's all happened so fast. It scares me."

  "Why?"

  "Well, what if this doesn't work? What if we blow up or you decide you will stick with Charly or people find out and you hate me?"

  Vic took a deep breath. "I could never hate you. And no, I don't know if you and I are going to, well, whatever women do—ride off into the sunset together. I don't know anything. But I know I am alive and I'm strong. And maybe whatever happens is supposed to happen. I'll learn from it. I'll be a better person for it. Fear isn't an option."

  As Charly drove to Richmond, he envied how close women's friendships were. He didn’t think he’d ever be as close to a man as Vic

  was with Jinx or this new friend. It seemed they could tell one another anything.

  He wasn't really looking forward to seeing his father. Thomas Harrison ran a large brokerage firm in Richmond. Sometimes he'd drive home for a night, but usually he only came home on weekends. The arrangement suited both his parents.

  Charly respected his father and he supposed he loved him. One had to love one's father. But he felt no special closeness to Thomas. Demanding, critical but fair, the older Harrison pushed his brood to be better, to be good sports, but to play to win. He'd say, Who remembers the runner-up in the Kentucky Derby in 1960?"

  One way of winning was to make more money than the other guy. As a young man Charly understood that money meant winning; it was important, and a man without resources wasn't much of a man by American standards. Even if he thought it was emotionally and spiritually stupid, money mattered. You couldn't support a family on love alone. A clean conscience wasn't going to pay the bills. Money mattered.

  He'd thought about a career in pro ball. He knew his stats were good, even though William and Mary was not a hot spot on any team's recruit list. But he averaged 4.9 yards a carry last season and could run the forty-yard dash in 4.3 seconds. And not only could he run, he could block, too. There was a slim chance for him. But he'd destroy his knees—a running back's lifespan was slightly longer than the mayfly in professional football. Even if he did get drafted, he wanted a profession when that career was over.

  Externally affable and good-natured, Charly possessed a keen mind. He'd turn problems over in his mind, speaking to no one about them, not even to Vic, although he felt he could tell her anything. He didn't like talking about something until he had figured out a solution.

  By the time he pulled into the parking lot of Bishop and Harrison, confidence surged through him. He felt he knew how to approach his father.

  His appointment was at nine-thirty. Thomas didn't like to be surprised, so Charly couldn't drop in. He had made the appointment with his dad's secretary yesterday but then forgot to ask Vic for her car.

  One of the strings attached to having his college education paid

  for by his father, was that Charly couldn't own a car while in school. Thomas believed students without cars made better grades than students with cars. He was probably right.

  Since he was early, Charly walked around downtown for a half hour. The temperature would climb so that it still felt like summer, but the light told another story. Fall was on the way. Charly knew one morning soon he'd awaken to smell the leaves and the odor of the earth. The ensuing weeks would bring crystal-clear days and nights, extraordinary color, and a quickening of pace.

  Charly strode into his father's office at precisely nine-thirty. Thomas admired punctuality.

  "Son." The tall man shook hands with his boy. "Sit down. Can I get you anything to drink? Are you hungry?"

  "No, Dad. Thank you."

  "How's school?"

  "Fine."

  "Grades?"

  "So far so good. I ought to graduate with a three-point-six at the lowest."

  "Good. You don't know any of those Alpha Tau boys involved in this pledge hazing, do you?"

  "Well, I know who they are, but I don't really know them."

  "Binkie Marshall is on the board of trustees. He called me last night and said the administration is going to crack down on this kind of foolishness. It's in today's papers."

  "I haven't read the papers."

  "Even in the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Well, public relations will take a nose dive. I don't know what people expect. Young men often lack judgment. What is the old saying? 'Good judgment comes from experience and experience comes from bad judgment.' " The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "Binkie was taking my temperature, of course. I'll still be making my contribution as an alumnus." Thomas smiled, the light overhead catching the silver beginning to weave throughout his own blond hair. "Well, Charles, what can I do for you?"

  "Dad, do you remember how you felt when you graduated from college?"

  Thomas, a wild man during his own days at William and Mary smirked. "Sick as a dog, that's how I felt."

  "Besides that."

  "Naturally I told myself I'd conquer the world. And I knew I was lucky. I just missed the Big One. Korea, too. But I knew I'd have to compete against those men. I don't recall anything else. Why?"

  "I thought if I knew how you felt, it might give me perspective on how I feel."

  "Which is?" Thomas linked his fingers together, placing his hands behind his head.

  "Excitement. I can't wait, Dad. I feel like anything is possible unless something beyond our control happens, you know, like war with the Russians."

  "Mideast, more likely," Thomas tersely responded.

  "Right. But if there aren't those--eruptions, I think were poised, my generation and all of us, really, on the brink of incredible financial opportunities. I want to be part of it. If I don't try for pro ball, I want to go straight into business, your business." He knew he had his father's total interest. I don't want to work for your firm, though. I want to get a job with Merrill Lynch or Dean Witter. I want to work my way up."

  Thomas brought his hands down to his desk. What father doesn't want a son in the business? "And how did you arrive at this decision?"

  "A lawyer has a ceiling on earnings. Even the best. Same with a doctor. I want unlimited opportunities to create wealth—for myself and my clients. I want the challenge of it. I think if you've seen one gallbladder, you've seen them all." He paused while his father listened. "And the same with law. The repetition of it isn't appealing. And no criminal law, either. I'm not representing pimps, drug dealers, and rapists."

  Intensely pleased, Thomas said quietly, "Have you spoken to your mother about this?"

  "No, sir. I needed to talk to you first. I think Mother will be okay. Don't you?"

  "Yes. Her only concern is that you be happy."

  "Do you understand why I can't work for you?"

  "I do. But that doesn't mean I can't hire you, say, six or seven

  years from now when you're making your mark." Thomas smiled broadly.

  One other thing." He paused and then spoke deliberately. "I want to marry Vic after graduation."

  "I see." Thomas liked Vic, as did his wife. She was well bred and would fit into the world they envisioned for their son. A pity about her father's lack of financial acumen, but that was no reflection on the girl.

  "I love her."
>
  "The early years of establishing yourself can be punishing. You won't have much time for a home life . . not if you want to be the best. And what about relocating? There may be a point in your career trajectory when you'll need to work in New York or London. Can she adjust to this?" He turned his hands upward. "I'm not criticizing, son. I think she's a lovely girl, a beautiful girl, and I think she will make a great life partner. But you're both very young, and she's never been out of Virginia in any significant fashion."

  "She's flexible. She'll do it."

  "You also have to be clear with her about her wishes. Does she want a career? You know this has altered your mother's and my relationship. She gave up her ballet career to marry me. At first she seemed comfortable, but over the years, especially when she approached middle age, she became very resentful of me. I wouldn't want that to happen to you."

  "Yes, sir, I understand. I will be clear, I'll talk to her. She won't say something just because I want to hear it. She's a very honest person."

  "That she is. Understand, I'm not throwing cold water on your plan. I was young once." He smiled wanly. "I'm thinking ahead, that's all. Divorce ruins careers. Once married, stay married, no matter what. In the best of all possible worlds, you'll stay in love, you'll remain faithful, but should you" —he cleared his throat— "stray off the reservation, the bond must be strong enough to endure. Believe me, son, divorce derails careers, especially in our profession. You must be above reproach, which means if you can't fulfill your marriage vows to the letter, you must be discreet."

  Charly hadn't expected this advice. "With a wife like Victoria, why would I even look at another woman?"

  Thomas laughed. "You've got a point there, son."

  "One other thing. What if she strays off the reservation?"

  A cloud, a fleeting shift, passed over the older man's rugged features. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander? I don't think women . . well . . I don't know. I was going to say they don't fall victim to such behavior as often as men, but perhaps they don't have as many opportunities. It's not for me to say."

  "I intend to speak to Mr. Savedge before Christmas. I still have things I want to sort out, and you've given me a lot to think over. I do want to talk to Vic."

  "Have you asked her to marry you?"

  "No. I had to speak to you first, Dad. And I need to speak to her father. I hope she'll say yes when I do ask her. I don't know what I'd do if she said no."

  Thomas waved his hand, batting away the notion of a refusal. "Charly, I don't think you will meet too many women who would say no to you. You know, sex will get you together but won't Ispep you together. Marriage is a partnership. And when the children come, you are truly bound for life. Your blood and hers. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not hurrying you along to have children, but a man isn't a man until he's a father. You children have brought me the greatest happiness of my life."

  Stunned, for his father so rarely opened his heart, Charly stammered, "Dad, I'll try to live up to your example."

  Thomas, recovering from his outburst, laughed. "Might have to live some things down, too." He glanced over his son's blond head at the huge wall clock opposite his office. "I hate to cut this short, but Howard Nantes has an appointment with me. I should have scheduled more time."

  Charly stood up, as did his father, who walked around from behind his desk, clasping his son by the shoulders. "Your mother and I are driving to the game. We'll take Victoria if you like."

  "Thanks, Dad. She's going home. She's trying to help her mother out because Mr. Savedge has lost all their money again."

  "I see." Thomas shook his head. "Well, I am sorry. R. J. is a wonderful, wonderful woman, and she doesn't deserve such problems." He

  quickly added, "No disrespect to Frank. He's a brave man. He just doesn't have the tools for business."

  "Yes, sir."

  Euphoric, Charly sang along with the radio the whole way back to Williamsburg. Vic had returned from her last class, and she and Chris were sunbathing in the backyard.

  "Hey!" He bounded over to them. "I am taking you two to dinner." "What about the training table? Coach will have a fit."

  "I'll be there right on time, if we go now."

  The three of them drove out to The Roadhouse and ate clams and corn chowder until they couldn't eat any more.

  By the time Vic dropped him off at the jock dorm, he was giddy with happiness.

  Chris realized Vic was right. She couldn't help but like Charly Harrison.

  M

  ore money than God, and what good does it do him?" demanded Sissy Wallace, her voluminous shell-encrusted purse on her right arm, hands on her hips.

  "Uh-huh." Hojo filed her nails.

  Georgia, standing next to Sissy, pointed her finger at Hojo, who was secure in command central high above them. "Girl, you don't do a lick of work. Or then again, maybe you do." Her eyes narrowed, her mauve eye shadow sticking in the creases of her eyelids.

  Hojo slammed down her nail file. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "That you're no better than you should be." Georgia smiled falsely.

  "Oh, Georgia, you got a mean mouth on you today. Mean reds."

  Sissy loved it, of course. "You're jealous of Yolanda. Ha. Jealous of a

  cow, and you're taking it out on Hojo."

  "I don't have to take that kind of talk."

  Before Georgia could embellish her retort, Bunny, followed by R. J., Vic, Chris, and Jinx, pushed through the door.

  Georgia turned her back to Hojo. "Bunny, if you hire trash, you'll take out trash."

  "I beg your pardon?" Bunny steeled herself for a Wallace Moment, as she called such events.

  "Sissy and I walked in here to see Don, and this made-up cow

  won't buzz him. Says he's in a meeting. She doesn't know her place." Georgia pulled out from her cleavage a linen hanky with a G embroidered on it. She wore an orange halter top, in a small fit of rebellion as well as a concession to the heat. It was not a good idea.

  "Georgia's being fussy. Aren't we surprised? Hojo was perfectly polite," Sissy said, folding her arms over her chest.

  R. J. nudged Vic, who tiptoed around the back of the reception desk, heading toward the meeting room.

  Bunny spoke sharply to Hojo, who still held a nail file in her right hand. "This is a place of business, not a beauty parlor." Then she focused on Georgia and Sissy while Hojo fumed and Jinx and Chris watched in fascination. "It's not unusual for Don to meet with people on Friday afternoons. I know that Hojo would never keep you all from my husband. Even though I am not happy about this filing of the nails business, he really is in a meeting."

  Vic reappeared. "He is."

  "Perhaps I can help you all." Bunny smiled.

  "We want Donny to get a Cadillac dealership," Sissy sweetly pleaded. "Then we can drag Poppy down here and make him buy us both Cadillacs. He won't let either of us drive his white Caddy. We can't wait any longer. I have been waiting for a Cadillac since I was twenty-five."

  "Fourteen years." R. J. smiled sweetly at Sissy.

  "Oh, R. J., you're such a card." Sissy playfully slapped R. J.'s bronzed forearm.

  "Getting a dealership, mmm, that takes some doing. Negotiations. But I know how much you want your Cadillacs, and beautiful women deserve Cadillacs. In fact, I think I should get one, too." The sisters tittered, and Bunny put an arm around each sister's shoulder, gliding toward the front door. "I will talk to Don about getting two Cadillacs at a discount. I don't know if he can work it because the Williamsburg dealer will want something in return, but I will make this my personal mission."

  "We knew we could count on you, Bunny," Sissy cooed as Bunny artfully shoved them out the door, propelling them toward Georgia's tank of a car.

  R. J. checked her watch. "Well just make it."

  Bunny left her car, took a set of keys off Don's sales board, and pushed everyone into a used Jeep Grand Wagoneer that had just been traded in.

  Mignon, standing with a gr
oup of friends in front of her school, didn't recognize her aunt or mother when the red Jeep pulled up to the curb. She coolly walked toward her mother, not wishing to appear too happy to see her until Vic rolled down her window in the backseat.

  "Creep."

  "Vic!" Mignon skipped over, opened the door, sprawling on her big sister's lap.

  "Oh, God," Vic complained loudly. "My legs will be crushed."

  "Oh, we are so funny today. I mean I could just die laughing. Hey, Chris. I'm glad you came back to see us. You could have left the Weirdo at school. Hi, Jinx."

  "Hi, Mignon. Wasn't that Marjorie Solomon you were talking to? I thought you hated her?"