The rest of fall semester passed by in a blur and, before the students knew it, finals week had arrived. There were no exams in business school, but they had group presentations to do in each class. For Craswell’s Marketing, the final day held a debate on the merits of cold calling as a sales strategy. Richard and Rebecca were assigned to different teams, but fortunately they didn’t have to compete against each other. I’m crazy about her, Richard thought, but I’m on track for an A in this class. Plus, she’d hate me if I let her win. He sat back in his chair and watched as Rebecca’s team argued in the negative – that cold calling was not an effective strategy. She was participating, and making some good points, but Richard could tell that Rebecca was holding back. They had prepped each other for the debate, and he knew she could do better.
After class, Richard walked over to her desk.
“What was that?” he asked. “You were way better than that when we practiced.”
Rebecca shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I was nervous.”
“Bollocks. You could’ve slaughtered the other team. What gives?”
She sighed. “There’s such a thing as being too smart, okay?”
“Also bollocks.”
“Maybe for you,” Rebecca replied. She leaned down to pick up her briefcase from the floor.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it,” she said, standing up and walking toward the classroom door.
Richard reached out and grabbed Rebecca’s arm. “Talk to me, Becks.”
“You can be the smart one and people will still like you.”
“People like you.”
“Will you shut up for once and listen? You told me to talk, so let me talk.”
Richard nodded his head. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m listening.”
“There’s such a thing as being too smart . . . for a girl. If you have all the answers, it’s because you’re smart and a go-getter. If I have all the answers, it’s because I’m a bookworm or weird or ‘probably hates men’. Or ‘wishes she were a man’.” Rebecca sighed, and Richard could see that she was on the verge of tears. “If the professor likes you,” she continued, “it’s because he ‘recognizes talent when he sees it’. If the professor likes me, everybody assumes I’m sleeping with him.”
“Who said that?” Richard clenched his fists to punch whomever it was.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is what you told me: succeeding in business is about relationships as much as it is intelligence or hard work. It’s about becoming one of the guys. And nobody wants to hang out with the smartest girl in school. They flirt with her and ask her to do their homework, but then they ditch her for their friends and the sexy cheerleader.
“I’m trying to find a happy medium, okay?” she added. “Too dumb and I’m an embarrassment. Too smart and I’m intimidating. Did I know the answers? Yeah. But the smarter play was to keep my cards close and my mouth shut. I’m not interested in winning a single hand. I want to win the whole fucking game.”
Richard nodded and smiled. “You will win it all. I have no doubt.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out toward her. Every fiber of his being wanted to take Rebecca Lewis in his arms and kiss her. He loved her passion, her intelligence, and her dreams for the future. He wanted to kiss her to show that he agreed with her and supported her, but he knew that Rebecca wouldn’t take it that way.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
“You,” Richard said, unable to lie this time. “You’re amazing.”
Rebecca looked at him with mock skepticism. “You aren’t flirting with me to get me to do your homework, are you?”
Richard laughed and held up his hands in defense. “You caught me. C’mon, I’ll make it up to you by buying you lunch.”
“No time for lunch,” Rebecca replied as they walked out of Aldrich Hall and into the quad. The area that was green grass when they first arrived in September was now blanketed in December snow. Rebecca pulled a beanie on to keep her head warm. “I have to go back to the dorms and start cooking. Emily’s party is tonight, remember?”
“Shit, no, I forgot. What am I supposed to bring?”
“I don’t know. Pick up some paper plates and napkins on your way. We always run out of those.”
TWELVE
At seven o’clock that evening, Richard and Rebecca got out of a cab at 520 Beacon Street in Back Bay. The six-story, pre-war apartment building was two miles from campus and a major upgrade from the dorm rooms that most students lived in. Rebecca had been there a few times before to hang out with Emily.
“Pretty swanky for a grad student, don’t you think?” Richard said as they stepped inside out of the cold winter air. He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck and shrugged out of his overcoat. “At least the heater works.”
“Emily said her dad is paying for it. He’s does something with import-export in San Francisco.”
“You know what that means,” Richard said as he knocked on Emily’s door. “He’s in the mafia.”
The door swung open and Emily welcomed them with a smile. Her apartment was decked out in Christmas gear, with everything from blinking lights to a full-size tree in the corner. Richard bumped his head on mistletoe as they walked in.
“Oops, sorry about that,” said Emily. “I didn’t realize how tall you were!” She batted her eyelashes at Richard, and Rebecca stepped between them.
“Here, I brought dessert.” Rebecca held out her trademark chocolate pecan pie.
Emily took the dessert, and another guest handed them both a glass of punch. “Be careful,” he said. “It’s spiked!”
****
Richard heeded the warning about the alcoholic punch, but Rebecca didn’t. By the end of the night, she was laughing and giggling on the couch while more than one male classmate vied for her attention.
And affection, Richard growled. He watched as one guy in particular, David, leaned in and whispered in Rebecca’s ear. Oh, for fuck’s sake, Richard thought.
An hour later, Rebecca weaved and stumbled her way to the door to leave. David was holding her arm, escorting her. Right when Richard was going to step in, someone exclaimed: “hey, you two are under the mistletoe!”
Rebecca and David looked up to see the green plant with white berries tied together by a red ribbon.
“Kiss her!”
David smiled and leaned forward, lips puckered. Rebecca played along and gave him a small peck. It was as far from romantic as a kiss could get, but it’s still more action than I’ve had, Richard thought.
****
Although David was the lucky bastard who stole a kiss under the mistletoe, Richard still won the prize of escorting Rebecca home from the party. The punch had done a number, and Rebecca was drunk enough to scoot closer to Richard in the cab and lean her head against his shoulder.
“You wanna know something?” she mumbled, half-asleep. “I didn’t like you at first. I thought you were rude and arrogant and only wanted to sleep with me.”
“Gee, thanks,” he replied.
“No, no, no,” she slurred, patting his arm. “That was then. I was wrong. My favorite thing about Harvard is you.”
Richard smiled. He leaned over and kissed the top of Rebecca’s head. “You’re my favorite thing too, darling.”
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.
“Happy Christmas.”
THIRTEEN
The memory of their shared cab ride carried Richard through the entirety of his two weeks home in England. Through his mother’s constant drinking, his father’s cold and distant disapproval, and even through the barrage of questions from his best friend, Geoffrey, about his love life in America. Geoffrey refused to believe that Richard wasn’t racking up notches on his bedpost at Harvard like he did at Cambridge.
“Things are different there,” Richard said one night when he met Geoff for drinks. Richard had driven into London earlier that afternoon and was spending th
e final few days of his trip in the capital.
“Of course they’re different,” Geoff replied. “Now you’re rich, handsome, and have a posh accent.”
Richard drank a sip of his beer. He and Geoff had grown up together and were roommates at both Eton and Cambridge. Although his family weren’t titled, they were very wealthy and belonged to England’s most privileged social circles.
“I’m trying to focus on school,” Richard lied.
“Bollocks. There’s only one reason why Richard Lord of the Ladies wouldn’t be racking them up in America.”
Richard rolled his eyes at his old college nickname. “And what’s that, mate?”
Geoff raised his glass in salute. “You’re in love.”
“In love?” Richard scoffed. “No.” He shook his head and looked down at the table, spinning his pint of beer in his hands.
“I knew it! You are! Who is she? More importantly, how is she?” Geoff asked, wiggling his eyebrows at the final question.
“I wouldn’t know. We haven’t gone to bed together.”
“Why the hell not?”
Richard let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s different, okay? She’s different. I don’t want one night with her. I want a lifetime.”
“What do their lord and ladyship have to say about that?”
“My parents don’t know about her. And you bloody well better not tell them.”
****
Forty-eight hours after his conversation with Geoffrey, Richard was back in the United States. He wasn’t even finished unpacking when he heard a knock on his dorm room door.
“Who is it?”
“Rebecca.”
He smiled and walked across the room to open the door.
“Hi stranger.”
“Hi!” Rebecca smiled in return and threw her arms around his neck.
Richard’s stomach did three and a half somersaults before he got it back under control. Every time Rebecca hugged him, or squeezed his hand, or hooked her arm through his while they walked, his heart leapt to his throat and he thought that maybe, just maybe, this time would be the time that it meant something. Seeing her again after the two-week Christmas break only intensified that response.
With his arms still around her in a hug, Richard leaned down and drew in a deep breath. God, she smells good, he thought. He knew part of it was her perfume – Rebecca wore Chanel No. 5 with its notes of rose, jasmine, and wintry musk. But Richard’s favorite part wasn’t the Chanel. It was her hair. In contrast to the icy freshness of the perfume, Rebecca’s hair was like a warm summer breeze that wrapped its arms around him and wouldn’t let go. A floral, fruity smell that he could almost taste – the perfect blend of subtle and bold. Like Rebecca.
Right when their hug was starting to linger too long and turn into perhaps something more, Rebecca pulled away. The smile on her face and sparkle in her eyes remained, though. She still has no idea what she does to me.
“Welcome back!” Rebecca said. “How was your break?”
“Good. Standard English fair: lots of food, parties, and a few days up in London with friends. I must admit,” Richard added, “I thoroughly enjoyed Boxing Day this year. I’ve missed being able to watch football on television.”
“Boxing Day?”
Richard nodded. “December 26th. It used to be the day when all the servants celebrated the holiday because they had to work on Christmas. But now it’s also become a big day for football matches.”
“Why is it called Boxing Day?”
Richard shrugged his shoulders. “Bugger if I know.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Your country is weird. But,” she added, “speaking of football – real football, I mean – a bunch of us are going to Spangler to watch the Holiday Bowl. Michigan versus BYU. If BYU wins, they’ll be national champs. Wanna come?”
Richard crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to be offended. “You do know that English football is the real football, right? America is the only country in the world that calls it soccer.”
“Yeah, well, you’re in America now.”
“So speak English, right?”
Both of them laughed at the memory from their first day of class.
“Exactly,” Rebecca replied. “So . . . Spangler? I’ll even help explain what’s going on.”
Richard nodded. “Sure, I’m in. Just let me grab my coat.”
FOURTEEN
“So, when you said ‘a bunch of us are going’ what you meant was the entire school?” Richard looked around the packed student union in amazement. “I’ve never seen it this crowded in here.”
Rebecca smiled. “I told you football was a big deal. C’mon,” she said, grabbing Richard’s hand. “Emily saved us some seats.”
“This is pretty exciting,” Richard said as they sat down. “Championships are always fun. Some of my very earliest memories are of watching Bobby Charlton play for England in the World Cup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad as happy as he was the day we won.”
Rebecca looked over at Emily to see if she had any clue what Richard was talking about. The other girl shook her head no, and they both laughed.
“What?” asked Richard.
“Nothing, nothing,” Rebecca replied. “What do you know about football?”
“Real football or American football?”
A classmate sitting nearby snorted in disgust. “American football is real football, man.”
Richard shook his head. “Whatever. And not much, to answer your question, Becks.”
“Okay, well, you’re in luck,” she said, scooting closer to him on the couch. So close her thigh was pressed against his.
Richard’s heart skipped a beat. To hell with the game, he thought. Just let me sit here and feel you next to me.
Unaware of her friend’s thoughts, Rebecca continued: “I know basically everything there is to know about football. It’s a cultural necessity where I come from.” She leaned closer to Richard and pointed toward the television. “See the team in white? That’s BYU – Brigham Young. And the other team, the one in blue, is Michigan.”
Richard breathed in deeply, trying to calm his nerves, but caught the fresh scent of Rebecca’s perfume instead. Dear God help me. I’m not going to make it through this.
Emily stood up to go talk to some other friends, and Richard seized the opportunity to shift over and leave a bit of space between himself and Rebecca.
Unfazed, she continued her football lesson. “Each team will have eleven players on the field at a time. The team with the ball, the offense, has four tries – or ‘downs’ – to go ten yards. If they don’t make it, the other team gets the ball.”
“How do you score?” he asked.
“If you run or pass the ball into the end zone – that part on either end that’s painted differently – you get six points. A touchdown. If you kick the ball through the U-shaped goal post after, it’s an extra one point. And if you kick it through the goal post without a touchdown, that’s a field goal worth three points.”
“So, this is rugby with a forward pass,” Richard concluded.
“Umm . . . sure. If you say so.”
“And for whom are we rooting?”
“Well, if you ask my dad,” Rebecca said in a whisper, “he’s rooting for BYU because their team is all white players.”
“Ergo, we want Michigan to win. Go blue?”
“Go Blue!”
FIFTEEN
It didn’t take long for Richard to realize that sports were a great way to spend even more time with Rebecca. They started watching the NFL playoffs on Sundays, and even picked up a Celtics game or two on TV. Emily and another friend, Joe, often joined them.
One day, during a halftime news update, the announcer said something about the House of Lords in England. Grainy video footage showed an assembly of men in black suits sitting in an ornate chamber.
“Today’s session was televised,” Richard explained. “First time ever for the House of Lords.”
&
nbsp; “Could you see your dad?” Rebecca asked.
“No, they all looked alike from that angle.”
Two students seated at a table nearby had been listening to the conversation and walked toward them. “Hey, you’re Arrington, right?” one of the visitors asked. “The royal guy?”
Richard shook his head. “I’m Arrington, but I’m not royalty.”
“He’s close enough,” Emily chimed in. “He’s a Viscount. And one day he’ll be a Marquess.”
A pang of jealousy hit Rebecca hard in the stomach, and she cut her eyes over at her friend in surprise. I didn’t know Emily was paying that much attention to him, she thought.
“How can I help you gentlemen?” Richard asked, turning the group’s attention back to their two guests.
“I’m glad you asked. We’re putting together a calendar of eligible bachelors, and we think you’d make a great fit.”
“Oooh yes, do it!” Emily exclaimed, placing her hand on Richard’s arm.
He shook her off and turned his attention back to the television screen. “No thank you. That’s not really my style.”
Rebecca held back a grin and her jealousy faded away. He’d never fall for a girl like her, she thought. He wants somebody who doesn’t care about his family. Someone who only cares about him. Someone like . . . Rebecca stopped herself from completing the sentence. He’s your friend, she reminded herself. Your best friend. Don’t screw that up because of some silly crush.
SIXTEEN
Whether it was a silly crush or not, all Rebecca knew was that she couldn’t imagine being at HBS without Richard. Between classes, runs on the river, walking Caymus, trying new restaurants, and now watching sports, there was seldom a moment when they were apart. It became a joke of sorts in their section, with other students referring to them as husband and wife. Rebecca did her best to ignore the gossip, but Richard embraced it. He even referred to her as ‘the wifey’ in front of their friends.
Every Star in the Sky Page 4
