FIC: Girls To Talk To (Chapel/Rand, R), 1/3
Author: Clio
Title: Girls To Talk To
Pairing: Janice Rand/Christine Chapel, with Spock/Nyota Uhura. Also James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy and Gaila/Montgomery Scott
Rating: R/Mature
Summary: Four young women meet as Radcliffe freshmen in 1959.
Warning: ( skip) None.
Length: 21,000 words
Notes: All graphics by my partner in this big bang, kymericl
A companion fic to When the Game Ends We'll Sing Again, this time about those Radcliffe ladies. References and influences at the end.
Thanks to verity, the_dala, and weepingnaiad for their help in shaping the story, and ali_wildgoose for the amazing beta job.
Lesley to bed,
Wellesley to wed,
Radcliffe girls to talk to.
When Janice Rand arrived in the Radcliffe Quadrangle, she was thankful that her grandmother had taught her how to keep up appearances. Her shoes were shined, her collar starched and white, and she'd travelled in a pleated skirt to reduce wrinkling. Her trunk had been shipped ahead of her, and in it was the result of an entire summer spent working in the local coffee shop by day and sewing the fabric she'd purchased by night. They'd used the smartest McCall's patterns, the nicest fabrics she could afford, and there was no reason Janice should feel shabby at all.
Yet, standing with her little case in one hand and her portfolio in the other, she saw all the other girls in their machine-knit woolens and embroidered jackets, and suddenly felt rather awkward. She felt a touch on her elbow, and looked up to see a girl, not much older than herself, in a black and white striped sweater.
"Can I help you get to your hall?" she asked, smiling broadly. "I'm in the Key, so you can ask me anything!"
"Yes, this letter says I'm in Bertram Hall?" she asked.
The girl indicated which staircase-she called it an "entryway"-was Janice's, and then said, "Don't forget the mixer tonight, down in Radcliffe Yard!" So many people to meet! Janice had never been shy, but she'd also never been out of her hometown.
The entryway was cool and sun-lit as she climbed the stairs to her third-floor room. Such old, sturdy buildings, and she couldn't help thinking of the women who'd been here before her. She walked into the large room and saw a Negress perched atop one of the desks, staring out the window. She was wearing a smart suit and her long straight black hair was slicked back into a high ponytail.
"Hello," the girl said, slipping off the desk and walking toward Janice. Her voice was low and friendly. "I'm Nyota Uhura. I know you said on your residence form that you wouldn't mind sharing with a Negro, but it can be different in person, so I wanted to say no hard feelings and I can move out any time." She smiled, but Janice could tell it was forced and just a little nervous.
Janice smiled back as warmly as she could. "I hope you don't move out, as you're the first person I've met here. I'm Janice Rand and I'm a scholarship student, so I hope that you won't mind sharing with me!"
Nyota laughed as she shook Janice's hand. "Of course I won't."
"Good, because you're quite pretty and I would very much like to draw you sometime."
"You're an artist?" Nyota asked.
There was a bit of a commotion at the door then, and a familiar-looking red-haired girl stumbled in, giggling and tugging her trunk after her. "Oh dear," she said. "That wasn't the dignified entrance I was hoping for. I knew the trunk needed one more big push but I may have been over-enthusiastic!" She held out her hand. "My name is Gaila."
"I'm Nyota," she said, "and this is Janice."
"Pleased to meet you both," Gaila replied, her ringlets bouncing.
Janice glanced down at Gaila's trunk and noted that her last name, Kane, matched that of one of the lecture halls in Harvard Yard. Then she realized why she recognized Gaila: that very June, Janice had poured over the photos of the society wedding of the year in the rotogravure section of the local paper. Gaila had been one of the bridesmaids, her older sister the bride, and Janice never forgot a face. She felt the nerves return. Gaila seemed friendly, but she was a real heiress, and Janice would be living with her for a whole year.
"I know it seems like quite a lot," Gaila was saying, "but I've never lived someplace cold before! Only traveled there for the skiing. San Francisco never really gets cold enough for big coats and such."
"I haven't, either," Janice admitted. "But I did spend the spring knitting, so I'm hoping that the sweaters I have will suffice."
"You knit? How wonderful!" Gaila said. "I'm always envious of anyone who can be useful. Finishing school does not teach you anything that can actually help anyone, other than French. It's rather frustrating. I'm hoping for more, here."
"She's also an artist of some sort," Nyota said.
"Are you really?" Gaila asked. "I hope you brought some of your work."
"Works in progress," Janice said. "They're quite unfinished."
Gaila waved a hand. "No matter. I'd very much love to see them, if you like." She paused. "Sorry. I can be demanding! Feel free to say 'no, Gaila' at any time! I also talk far too much, so you girls shouldn't let me run my mouth like this. Nyota, you should tell us all about yourself now. I mean, if you want to."
"Well," Nyota began, as Janice went to get out her portfolio, "I've lived in a few cold places. My father is a diplomat and we've travelled often, though our permanent home is in New York. I also speak French, and I find it very useful, particularly if you don't want other people to know what you're talking about."
"You're devious," Gaila said, wagging a finger at Nyota. "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it? Well, we'll get along fine. We'll confound everyone's assumptions about us!"
"Am I the last to arrive?"
They all turned to the door and saw their fourth roommate, flanked by what must have been her parents. She had chin-length blonde hair and reminded Janice of Eva Marie Saint in the new Hitchcock movie, all cool competence, the very picture of a Radcliffe girl. And yet, Janice didn't feel nervous at all.
"That's fine," Janice said. "We all only just arrived. I'm Janice Rand, and this is Nyota Uhura, and this is Gaila." She went along with Gaila's apparent reluctance to broadcast her last name; perhaps she wanted to be known for something other than her family.
"My name is Christine Chapel," she said, "and these are my parents."
"We just came to see our girl settled in," said Mr. Chapel. "You all must be hungry after your travels. Can we treat you nice ladies to a sandwich before we head on home?"
Which is how Janice found herself sitting in a large booth at a nearby diner, feeling very grown up with her chicken salad platter and coffee, not an ice cream soda in sight. She sat across from Christine, between Gaila and Nyota, as they all talked about their study plans.
"Our Christine is a scientist," said Mrs. Chapel.
"Oh Mother," Christine said, blushing a little. "I've only had that summer program so far. I hope to be a scientist, or a physician at least. I admit that I love being in the lab and poking at things to see how they work."
"And is that an engagement ring?" Nyota asked.
Janice hadn't noticed before, but there was a diamond ring on Christine's third finger, and she felt oddly disappointed to see it.
"Yes," she replied. "Roger really is a scientist; he's getting his PhD now. He was one of the instructors at my summer program."
"My, my," Gaila said. "Not even at college yet and you've got your MRS!"
"What about you, Gaila?" Janice asked, hoping to change the subject.
"I haven't made up my mind!" she said. "There are so many possibilities and I'm interested in just about everything. But I do like to travel, so perhaps some sort of world history?"
"Will you be studying art, Janice?" Nyota asked.
"Art history, yes," she replied. "Then I can work in a museum, or perhaps a gallery."
"But not painting yourself?"
"You paint?" asked Mrs. Chapel. "How marvelous!"
"I do," she admitted, feeling shy. "I'm not sure well enough to call myself an artist, but I've had a lot of encouragement, and I plan to take a studio class here and there. But Radcliffe isn't an art school; I came here to become a bit more well-rounded. I come from a small town, and would like to learn all I can."
"An admirable attitude," proclaimed Mr. Chapel. "You'll be a good influence on our Chrissy. Not that she needs much urging to hit the books-more like to get her nose out of them!"
"Oh, Dad," Christine said.
"You can count on me for that, Mr. Chapel," Gaila said, winking, and he laughed.
"What about you, Miss Uhura?" Mrs. Chapel asked. "And may I say, what a beautiful and unusual name you have."
"Thank you," she replied. "My grandfather immigrated from East Africa just before the first World War. Now my father works for the United Nations, so I've been lucky enough to travel quite a lot. And I've always been good with languages. I plan on taking Russian this year. Perhaps I'll be a diplomat, myself."
"I'm sure you'll find much demand for such a skill," Mr. Chapel said. "And at least our government knows well enough to hire talent whether they're a white man or a Negro or a Chinaman or whatnot. I know it's easy for me to say, as we live in Pennsylvania and there isn't much trouble going on there, but still." He rapped his fingertips on the desk to emphasize his point.
"Thank you, Mr. Chapel," Nyota said. "I appreciate the support."
"Well, of course, dear," Mrs. Chapel said. "And if Christine decides to bring you up to the summer cottage, Mr. Chapel will make sure there's no nonsense about it."
Mr. Chapel nodded. "That I will do. A nice gang of girls here for you, Chrissy," he said, holding her hand. "Yes indeed, a real nice gang of girls."
They left soon after, trotting up ahead a bit to allow Christine to say good-bye to her parents privately, then returned to their room to freshen up before that evening's freshmen mixer in Radcliffe Yard.
"Thank you so much for humoring my parents," Christine said, looking a little embarrassed. "They're pretty square, but they do mean well."
"I don't know if I'd call an integrationist square," Nyota replied.
"Then you should have seen how relieved my father was that I wouldn't be a single girl at college," she replied. "I went to an all-girls boarding school and he'd much rather I'd gone to Wellesley or Smith or Bryn Mawr than here. Happily Roger helped to convince him."
"Quite a convenient fiancé," Gaila said.
"He's very forward-looking," Christine replied. "Now, what I'd like to see, is Janice's art."
"Yes, you never did show it to us earlier," Nyota said.
Well, she couldn't avoid it forever. She lived with these girls now. "All right," she said, and laid her portfolio case open on one of the desks. "It's mostly sketches and little watercolors-so much easier to do on the train." She put her hands behind her back, so she could wring them together without looking too awfully nervous.
"Oh my," Gaila said. "These are really lovely. Who is this boy and girl? It seems like you know them."
"My brother and sister," Janice says. "I helped my grandmother take care of them after our parents died."
"I'm so sorry," Gaila said.
"How long ago was that?" Nyota asked.
"About five years now," Janice replied. "They were too young to really remember."
"I'm sure you've told your siblings all about them," Christine said.
Janice smiled at her. "I have."
Christine looked closer at a sketch Janice had made of one of her fellow travelers. "How much life you get in so few lines," she said. "So economical."
Janice shrugged. "Well, when you're sketching on a train …"
"But I think it's just your style," Christine went on, looking at some of the watercolors. "You use just a few colors but they're so bright. Is this what you usually work with?"
"Actually no," Janice said, a bit surprised at the depth of Christine's questions. "I prefer oils and pastels. As you say, I like bright colors."
"Well, I don't know nearly as much about art as either of you," Nyota said, "but I agree that these people, they almost come right off the page. I feel almost as if I know them."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Christine said, taking a step back. "I didn't mean to dominate the conversation. I just took a few art appreciation classes at school."
"Not at all," Nyota said. "I love learning what other people know. Isn't that what we're here for, after all?"
Christine put her hand atop Janice's and squeezed, and when Janice turned toward her she smiled. "Then I will use my very slight expert knowledge to say that you really must continue with your own work. At least, I hope you will."
"Well, with all you girls to encourage me, it would be wrong not to," Janice replied, but she was looking at Christine all the while. "And now we really should go, shouldn't we?"
The four girls walked the few blocks from the Quad to Radcliffe Yard for the freshman mixer. A tent had been set up with plenty of lights underneath and hundreds of girls were wandering to and fro. Many of them already seemed to know Gaila.
"You know how it is," she said. "Boarding school, group trips, weddings, summer parties, that sort of thing. But I want to meet new people, not the sort you see in the same old places."
Janice very much didn't know, but could imagine, based on what she'd read in the copies of Vogue and Town and Country she'd found in the library. Gaila didn't act much like those heiresses seemed to, so it was no wonder she wanted to meet other people. Christine knew a few girls as well, from both school and the town where her parents had a summer home.
Even Nyota attracted the other Negro girls in their class-apparently there was a club they all belonged to, though they said anyone was welcome to come and discuss the protest movements that had been growing in the south. The three other girls all pledged that they would like to, very much. Funny how distant it had all seemed on the news, but now that it affected her roommate it felt all the more urgent. Janice wondered if any of those other Negro girls had met Dr. King or the lawyers who'd argued the Brown case.
Of course Janice knew no one save her roommates, but as she looked around the yard she couldn't imagine that she was the only girl who'd be saving her pennies and working at the library during her free hours. At least, she very much hoped she wouldn't be.
The four of them ended up near the gate, talking mostly among themselves. Then Nyota, looking out toward the street, made a tutting sound with her tongue. She cocked her head and crossed her arms. "And what are you gentlemen doing here?" she asked.
A handsome young man, blond with intense blue eyes, smiled. "It's a mixer," he said. "We came to mix."
Nyota rolled her eyes, which Janice couldn't understand-she certainly wouldn't mind having the attention of such a man.
He extended his hand. "I'm James T. Kirk. And you are?"
She shook it reluctantly. "Miss Uhura," she replied.
"No first name?" he asked.
"Not for you," she replied.
Gaila moved forward quickly. "My name is Gaila! I'm her roommate."
"Well, Gaila, Miss Uhura, it's very nice to meet you both," Mr. Kirk said. "May I introduce Scott-we call him Scotty, Bones McCoy, and Mr. Spock. Say, Spock, you can converse with Miss Uhura on the freedom of lacking a first name." He nudged his somber-looking friend ever so slightly in Nyota's direction. "While I talk a bit more with the lovely Gaila. Do you happen to have a last name, or is your room just for women with one name?"
Gaila giggled, and Janice was struck at the way she behaved just the same with boys as she did with girls. "You know that nice grey stone lecture hall in Harvard Yard?" she asked
"Yeah," Mr. Kirk replied. "I think I'm going to have a history class there. Why?"
She leaned forward, forcing the three boys to lean toward her. "That's my last name," she whispered.
"Does that make you a madcap heiress?" Mr. Kirk asked, grinning. "Because one of the things I wanted to do when I got to Harvard was meet a madcap heiress." He smiled.
"Not yet but maybe I should be!" She giggled again, then turned to Janice and Chris. "These are our other roommates, Christine Chapel and Janice Rand."
"Hello," Janice said, shaking their hands.
"Janice is an artist," Gaila said.
Janice felt her face flushing. "Gaila, I'm merely a serviceable painter!" she protested.
"I'm sure I'd love to see your work," the man called Scotty said, and Janice had to smile.
Christine was hesitant to join their little party, and Janice wondered if she worried that her engaged status would cause awkward feelings. But Gaila pulled her closer, announcing, "And Christine is going to be a doctor."
"Is that so?" Mr. McCoy said, moving closer. "So am I."
"I should warn you," Christine said, lifting up her left hand, "that I'm engaged to be married."
Mr. McCoy took yet another step toward her. "Well," he said, smiling, "so am I."
"Oh!" Christine said, surprised, and her shoulders relaxed.
"Bones's excuse is that he met his girl when he was a toddler or something, but how did a young girl like yourself get taken so quickly?" Mr. Kirk asked.
"He was teaching at a summer program I attended, at Bryn Mawr," Christine replied. "He's a medical archaeologist, finishing his PhD at Penn."
"Well," Scott said, "clearly us mere mortals cannot compete with that."
"Oh honestly," Nyota said, looking at the gate beyond them.
Janice looked up to see that while the boys talking to them might have been the first Harvard men to get the bright idea to crash the Radcliffe mixer, they were far from the last.
An enthusiastic looking girl with a Crimson Key sweater on walked by. "Oh don't worry, ladies!" she called out. "It's a tradition for the boys to crash our party eventually!"
Janice was secretly pleased that they had been near the gate and therefore had been the first girls spoken to, especially by someone as handsome as Mr. Kirk, but Nyota just shook her head.
Mr. Kirk grinned. "Apres moi, le deluge."
"I know you didn't think much of them at first, Nyota," Gaila said when they were back in their room, "but I thought those boys were charming, almost sweet really."
"That serious one, Spock was it?" Christine said. "He seemed to take a liking to you."
"He did," Nyota admitted. "I suppose they weren't so bad, aside from that Mr. Kirk."
"Oh Nyota," Janice said, "he did ask us to call him Jim."
"I thought his friend Leonard was very kind," Christine said. "I think Roger would be relieved, to know that I'm making friends with other engaged people. And we'll have so many classes together."
"And there you are," Gaila said. "That leaves Scotty and Jim for Jan and me. And I don't think I have to ask which one Jan hopes will be calling on us soon."
"Jan, a boy like that can't be anything like serious," Nyota said.
"I know the type," Janice replied. "A little arrogant and full of themselves, used to having any girl they please. But they do know how to make a lady feel special. Besides he's here on scholarship, just like me. And I don't know, something about him-he might be a good friend to have, I think, even if he'd make for a bad beau."
"I hope so," Nyota said, "because he's going to be in my Russian class every morning!"
"Diplomacy is an excellent skill to develop," Christine replied. "But may I ask, about Spock-I think he may be Jewish. And would you prefer a Negro boy?"
Nyota shrugged. "His religion doesn't matter much; one white boy is the same as the next. I can't imagine that he would be serious about me. Though there have been some Jewish people involved in the movement. They have some understanding of what we're up against, I suppose. And I expect that the Negro boys will be along soon enough." She sighed. "But thank you for asking, Christine, and not just assuming."
"If it's questions you want," Gaila said, "how do you get your hair so wonderfully sleek?"
"I'll tell you," she said, "just as soon as Jan shows us how she did that lovely thing with her hair!"
"Yes, Jan," Chris added. "You almost make me want to grow my hair again! Or get a fall, just so I could try that lovely woven affect you've achieved."
"Oh," Janice said, patting her head. "Everyone in my hometown is so used to it, I'd forgotten. It's really quite easy and yes, Chris, you could do it with a fall. I'd be happy to show it to you."
"I just knew that college would be like this!" Gaila said. "A lovely long slumber party, only with books and the occasional boy!"
"Now Gaila," Chris said. "You know that the three of us, we have to get ready for careers after this. We have to take this seriously."
"I will, too," Gaila said. "I promise. I'm really quite intelligent and I'm sure you all will inspire me to crack down and work hard. It's just so easy to seem silly, and it puts people at ease, you see."
"I understand completely," Janice said. "So many people, they don't much like a smart girl, so you have to smooth out the rough edges a bit."
"Can we all agree to put an end to that?" Nyota asked. "We're all smart girls in our own ways or we wouldn't be here. I say we let that show! Out in the world they might not like it so much, but at Radcliffe I believe it's encouraged."
Gaila nodded. "We're all 'black stockings' as the boys apparently call us," she said. "We may as well act like them."
"Perhaps we can help each other," Christine said. "Old habits are so hard to break, and it will be so nice to have other intelligent girls to talk to."
"We can pinky swear, as we did in the playground," Janice said. "I think all four of us can hook them together, can't we?"
Gaila wasn't familiar with the concept, so they showed her, and when they all had their fingers crooked around each other they began to giggle.
"This is serious," Nyota said, though she was laughing too. "We are swearing that for the next four years, we will let everyone see the smart girls-no, women, the smart women that we are. Do you swear to this?"
"I swear!" they all said, as solemnly as they could.
Janice looked at her roommates-her friends, now, she was sure of it-and thought about four years spent learning, and allowing oneself to be that smart girl. She could scarcely believe that it was happening, but she could hug herself, she was so glad of it.
Christine was trying to work-really she was-but she couldn't quite concentrate on her latest results for her thesis experiments. Usually the sound of Janice working, and jazz on the phonograph, was a soothing background that allowed for productivity, but her anticipation made her too nervous.
"Don't think I can't hear you sighing over there," Janice said.
"Sorry," Christine said, and put her pen down. "My stomach is in knots over poor Nyota. I thought my data might take my mind off, but then I remember discussing it with Leonard, and then that makes me think of Spock, and I feel sad all over again."
"Of course you're upset," Janice said. "Of the four of us you're the one who has the best idea of what she's going through, since you're in love as well."
"True," Christine said. "I'm not sure I could do what she's doing. Roger is central to all of my work, and to pull him out of the middle of it would be devastating."
Janice cocked her head. "Remember, you're becoming a doctor for yourself as well," she said.
"Of course," Christine said. "Of course I am."
"Good," she said. "So you can take a look at this? Give me your honest opinion?"
Christine set her work down, chalking it up as a loss for now, and moved behind Janice to look down at what she'd been working on: a small blue bird in a tree. "It is awfully twee," Christine said.
"I just wanted to make something happy today," she said.
"Lord knows we'll need it," Christine said, patting Janice on the shoulder, and Janice reached up to grasp her hand. "And thanks, for the reminder."
"That's what friends are for, isn't it?" Janice said, turning to look her in the eye.
The front door of their suite opened and Gaila rushed in. "Is she back yet?" she asked.
"No," Janice replied.
"Good," she said, and collapsed into a nearby chair. "I admire you girls for being able to work. I was at the library but I can't remember a single bit of the reading I did."
Janice sat back and sighed. "You're not alone," she said, pushing back an errant lock of hair and streaking her cheek with the green pastel dust that had accumulated on her palm. "This is rubbish. And I only need one last piece for the final show."
"And I can't make heads or tails of my latest results," Christine said. "I simply cannot concentrate."
"I'll make some tea," Gaila said. "That always helps."
By the time they'd drained their cups, Nyota had arrived back in the room. She looked drained and no sooner had she shut the door behind her than all three of her roommates had jumped up to embrace her and then settle her in the middle of their couch. Christine and Janice sat on either side, while Gaila perched on the quickly cleared coffee table.
"Can I make you a cup of tea, dear?" Gaila asked.
"No," Nyota said, sighing. "I'm fine."
"Of course you're not fine," Janice said, "nor should you be."
"You needn't pretend for us," Christine added. "So what did he say."
"He didn't say anything," Nyota replied. "We went for a walk and I presented all of my reasons for ending our romance-the difference in race and religion, my obligation to the movement-and he listened to me as he always does. Poor lamb, he'd started our conversation saying that we should be coordinating our graduate school applications. He had no idea. I wonder if I deceived him somehow."
"Oh I don't think so," Gaila said, soothingly.
"And then he said that clearly I'd given this a great deal of thought, and my arguments were sound. He had no desire to interfere with whatever work I felt I needed to do in order to, as he said, improve our imperfect world. He felt there was no reasonable counter argument to make. And then-" she smiled through the tears in her eyes-"then he said that while this wasn't the outcome he'd hoped for, that he was relieved that we could part as friends, that he'd done nothing to diminish my feelings for him. And I said that if anything I admired him even more, for the respect he'd always shown to me. Then he walked me back here and kissed me goodbye."
"Darling, I'm so sorry," Janice said, wrapping an arm around her.
"If even Spock feels I'm doing the right thing, then I must be," she said. "Everyone thinks so. I just-oh I wish it didn't hurt so much!"
"Come here dear," Christine said, pulling Nyota's head against her shoulder. "You can cry now; it's okay."
"You're doing what you feel is right," Janice said. "That's the important bit. We can help you face the sadness now, but you must be able to look yourself in the mirror in several years' time."
Gaila had taken her hand. "And I say that the first way we can help you is by having ice cream for dinner, and then bringing back a bottle or three of wine and listening to every single girl group record not just in this room, or this entryway, but in the entirety of South House!"
Nyota chuckled a little in spite of herself. "I admit I could do with some Supremes right about now."
"That's right!" Gaila said, standing. "Singing and crying and drinking red wine got my mother through all of her divorces, so it's good enough for us!" She pulled Nyota to her feet. "Come on, girls, let's change. Capris are dressed up enough for the soda shop."
As they walked away, Janice turned to Christine, still next to her on the couch. "Poor Nyota. I've never been in love so I can't imagine, though I'm sure you can."
"I could never be so brave as to give up a man like Spock," Christine said, "nor yet Roger. It must be wrenching, to not be able to love as you please."
Janice looked at her with a sudden kind of intensity, the way she stared at an object she might draw or paint, and Christine felt self-conscious. "Yes," she said. "It must be."
The spring had been a solemn thing, with all of them working diligently on their senior projects. The boys down in Lowell House were busy as well, of course, but had been scarce for other reasons. Christine only saw Leonard when they bumped into each other in the lab, and found that she missed him a great deal. It didn't help that Roger had been nearly incommunicado on a dig in Rhodesia since the Christmas holiday.
But blessed, blessed spring break had arrived, and all that work was behind them. For the first time the boys didn't join them at the Chapel summer home in the Poconos, opting instead for the McCoy beach cottage down in South Carolina. The girls understood; Nyota and Spock's wounds were still raw, the hurt still recent. But the house felt empty without them.
They'd spent much of the day playing lawn bowling out on the village green, a welcome distraction and a good excuse to get out of the house. They'd lingered over dinner, as they often did, and now they were sitting on the floor in the living room, backs against the couches and chairs, finishing off their second bottle of wine. Christine didn't recall their drinking quite as much wine during previous vacations as they had on this trip. It wasn't just Nyota's grief; Christine could feel the future coming, a door closing behind her, horizons narrowing. A future she'd happily chosen four years ago when she was a very different girl, but then, no one gets everything they want.
"We are dull girls," Gaila said suddenly. "And I can't see any reason for it! Just because the fellas aren't here doesn't mean we can't have any fun."
Nyota raise an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting we go down to the tavern and entertain the local boys?"
"Of course not! Pah on all boys, I say. No, we can make our own fun, like we did in boarding school. Right, Christine?"
"I don't know what you mean," Christine said stiffly, though she wasn't sure why.
Then Gaila winked at her and made a kissing face, saying, "Of course you do."
"Kissing games?" Janice asked.
Gaila shrugged. "When there are no boys around, why not kiss the other girls? It's just in fun, and none of us have had a proper date in weeks. Besides, who would I want to kiss so well as my girls?"
Christine felt rooted to the spot with no idea how to respond. She turned to Nyota, who had the same hard, defiant expression she'd worn so often since her break-up with Spock. "I would have no objection to some fun," she said, sounding like her former beau. "I'm not too proud to admit that I've missed the kissing. Among other things."
Janice looked at Christine. "Radcliffe is supposed to make us sophisticated women of the world, right?" she asked. "Though you always have been, really."
Then Christine thought, the hell with the future. It could-would-take care of itself. "If that's so," she said, "then what do we need the bottle for?"
"That's the way, Christine!" Gaila said. She leaned over and in that cheerful manner only she could manage, pulled Nyota into a kiss. Janice and Christine watched Nyota respond passionately, almost greedily, and it wasn't long before Gaila had climbed into her lap.
"So," Christine said, "I suppose it's just you and I." She felt suddenly shy.
But Janice was smiling and putting her hand on Christine's knee. "I suppose so," she replied, and they were leaning in closer, giving in to the inexorable pull.
Their lips met and it was everything Christine had hoped and feared, a roar in her ears and a crackle in the air and every cliche she'd ever read in a dime store paperback. They kissed again, and again, and again until they were breathing each other's air, pressed up against each other as though they could push through skin. In the far-off distance Christine could hear a sound but she paid it no mind, preferring to concentrate on the soft press of her tongue against Janice's.
At last they pulled apart, breathless, and Christine realized the sound was Nyota clearing her through while Gaila giggled.
"My, we won't have to worry about you two, will we?" Gaila said. They were standing now, holding hands. "We're going up to your and Nyota's room, so you and Janice can use ours, all right?"
Christine couldn't quite find her voice so she merely nodded, and she could see Janice doing the same out of the corner of her eye.
"Good. Have a nice night," Gaila said, winking and waving before leading Nyota up the stairs.
Janice shrugged. "Might as well go up ourselves," she said.
Christine nodded, but she needed a moment to breathe, to let this all sink in, what they were about to do-what she wanted to do. So she wandered around the ground floor, turning off lights and bringing the wine glasses and empty bottle into the kitchen, and Janice followed her. And it did give her space to think, but was also such a domestic ritual that her mind went to other places, other ways of living that, she knew, weren't possible.
The summer cottage had five bedrooms upstairs, one a master for Christine's parents (who of course weren't there) and four rooms each with two twin beds. Even though the boys weren't with them, the girls had doubled up as they usually did, so Janice and Christine walked into the room that Janice was sharing with Gaila. Unsurprisingly Gaila's side of the room looked as though her suitcase had exploded onto her bed; Gaila had the kind of disorganized messiness that came from growing up with a staff to clean up after you, though she always did her part in the common areas.
Janice's bed, though, was tidy and inviting, and they sank down onto it, eager to get back to kissing. Christine wondered if this was how boys felt all the time, thinking about kissing and about what was under girl's blouses and all of that. They were laying on top of each other, rolling as much as they could on the narrow bed, legs entwined, and it was a strange thing to feel Janice pressed against her, soft and warm. She didn't want to open her eyes, lest the moment vanish, and so used her other senses to guide her. Christine felt along Janice's waist, slipping her hands under the other girl's cotton top and then over her bra.
"Wait," Janice said, as best she could when they were still kissing. "Wait."
Christine pulled back. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No!" Janice said. "No, I just, here, sit up."
Christine did and Janice followed. Then, watching Christine all the while, she took off her top, her shorts and panties, and her bra. Janice had seen her naked briefly a few times, of course-they'd shared a room for nearly four years-but now, in the moonlight coming through the window and the one small light on the nightstand, her creamy skin glowed and Christine could stare all she wanted at Janice's curves.
Janice reached up to her hair and began removing pins, pieces of hair falling into her face as she did so. "Well?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"Isn't it your turn?"
"Oh! Yes," Christine said, and took off her own clothes, rather more clumsily she thought, but Janice seemed appreciative enough.
Janice put her handful of hairpins on the nightstand and shook her hair, looking like that girl who'd come out of the sea in that spy movie Jim was so fond of. "Did you do more than kissing, when you were at boarding school?" Janice asked.
"Yes," Christine admitted.
"Then you know what to do now."
"I think you probably have a good idea," Christine said, before pushing Janice back down onto the bed.
It was an easy thing after that, kissing and stroking breasts and buttocks while their thighs were busy rubbing and squeezing against each other. They would have made quite a sight, gasping and cooing as they humped more and more desperately, chasing that elusive "little death," and that was something Christine knew, to keep going until they got the fireworks. But it seemed to take no time at all before Janice's breath hitched and her muscles tightened, with Christine following shortly after that.
Christine rolled off onto her back to catch her breath, and glanced over at Janice, whose long yellow hair was spread out across the bedspread. She smiled at Christine, then giggled.
"I think I know now why they always smoke after, in movies," she said, and reached for the pack of Camels and the lighter sitting in the small metal ashtray.
Christine sat up and opened the window next to the bed. The room looked out into the back, so no one would be able to see two nude girls leaning on the sill, blowing smoke into the warm night air.
They were quiet for a moment, then Janice asked, "Did all the girls do more than kiss?"
"No," Christine said. "And many of them stopped when they got themselves boyfriends."
"But you didn't stop."
Christine took another drag to buy herself time to answer. "I didn't have a boyfriend, and I was curious. When I was a sophomore one of the senior girls showed me, after a party, and for some nights after that. There was a small circle of girls who did more than kiss, and I ended up among them. And when I was a senior, I showed the younger girls in my turn."
"My goodness," Janice said. "But I suppose those girls are married now?"
"Most of them, yes," Christine said. "And I soon will be."
"Is it different with Roger, then?" Janice asked.
"Yes," Christine said, "though I'm not sure I'd say it's better. But he takes good care of me, and he seems enthusiastic about my becoming a scientist, and really, that's so much more than other men."
"You're a lucky girl," Janice said. "Everyone thinks so."
Christine turned to her. "But do you? Sometimes I wonder. I said yes to him four years ago and so much has happened since then. I wonder if I'm even the same girl."
"If you want to marry him, then you should," Janice said. "Do you?"
Christine looked out at the trees, and thought of Roger's brilliance, the way he encouraged her when almost no one else would, how he accepted nothing less than brilliance from everyone around him, and even then had singled her out as his choice even though half the girls in the program had set their caps for him. She thought of his letters, long and thoughtful and never condescending but expecting her to rise to his level. "I do."
"Well that's that," Janice said, and a long, comfortable silence followed.
Then Janice said, "I wonder what might have happened to me if I had known a girl like the ones you knew at school."
"What do you mean?"
"I think-I think I've always liked girls rather more than I should," Janice said. "I would go to the movies and have a funny feeling about Kim Novak or Grace Kelly, and sometimes about a woman I saw in the street. I just didn't think there was anything to be done about it."
"I see."
Janice cocked her head. "Am I shocking you?" she asked, worried.
"Not really," Christine replied, and put her hand on Janice's thigh to reassure her. "I mean, I hadn't noticed, of course, but I know there are such girls. They all seem to go to New York."
"Yes," Janice said. "I'll admit, when I met Jim, and he made me feel just like those movie stars did, I had a little hope. But he moved on, and so did my ideas of having a life like other women."
"Oh Janice," Christine said. "Do you really think so?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "Please, Christine, don't say anything."
"Of course not," Christine replied. "Though you know, I've even read that some people are trying to get it reclassified, so it won't be a disease anymore? And at least you'll be an artist, among artistic people. I'm sure that will make it much easier."
"I hope so," Janice said, "because there's nothing for it. But I'm so glad you were my first girl."
"So am I," Christine said. Then, before she could over-think it, she continued, "You're the dearest girl, Janice, really you are. You should have all the best things. You've already had it so hard with your family and all; it seems wrong for life to give you more burdens to carry. I just wish I could make this better for you."
She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and smiled. "How about showing me everything those boarding school girls taught you," Janice said.
Christine was up first, putting the coffee on and picking up the paper from the stoop. Janice came in next and to her relief there wasn't a bit of awkwardness over the events of the night before. They were planning out a breakfast of eggs and bacon when the other two girls came down.
"Now girls, I hope no one feels bashful about last night," Gaila said.
"Not at all," Janice replied. "Should we?"
"Of course not!" Gaila said, smiling broadly. "Also Nyota has something she'd like to say."
Nyota sat down at the kitchen table. "I want him back," she said. "The entire evening, all the while I was kissing Gaila, I was thinking of Spock, wondering what he was doing. I know I made the decision to end things with him for all the right reasons but how could it be fair to any other man, to always be thinking of Spock?" She sighed. "I could live without him, but I don't want to."
Janice and Christine looked at each other, surprised. "You seemed so sure, last month," Janice said. "You'd thought it through so carefully."
"Maybe that was my problem," Nyota said. "Maybe you can't make these decisions only with your head."
"Then when we return to school, we'll talk to the boys," Christine said. "And we'll see what can be done."
"I hope he can forgive me," Nyota said.
"Of course he can," Gaila said. "You were so careful to explain that it wasn't him."
"And now that I've changed my mind?" she asked. "Quite a thing for a supposedly intelligent woman to be doing."
"I don't think being changeable means being capricious," Janice said. "I'd like to think that I'm flexible and open. And if I were him, I'd be so glad to have you back, I'm not sure I would worry overmuch about how it happened."
"Oh, you're such wonderful friends," Nyota said. "I'm so lucky to have met you."
"We're all lucky," Christine said. "But let's get breakfast on the table. It's spring clean-up day on the trails, and we all have to pitch in."
"Yes, and I think some nice physical labor will do us wonders," Janice replied.
They got up then and all set about cooking. But Christine couldn't help but think that in all the time she had spent kissing Janice last night, she'd never thought of Roger at all.
That night they were too tired for alcohol, and opted instead for ice cream sodas and a long game of four-handed rummy out on the porch once the sun went down. They were well into it when Christine noticed headlights sweeping across the back yard, indicating that a car had pulled into their driveway.
"Who could that be?" Janice asked.
"I don't know," Christine replied, setting down her cards to go to the door. Their little summer town was entirely private, so she wasn't worried about safety, figuring it was some neighbor returning a tool or similar item that one of them might have left behind during their work day.
But when she opened the door, she saw Jim, Len, Scotty and Spock standing on her back stoop. Three of the boys looked tired, but flushed with excitement, while Spock seemed almost green with nerves. And all at once she realized why they were there.
Christine opened the door, and seemed to take in the entire situation at a glance. "Nyota is out on the porch. Just a moment and I'll get her."
"Thanks," Jim said.
But Spock apparently couldn't wait, and started walking around the side of the house just as Nyota did the same. They met in the middle, under one of the lamps illuminating the side garden, and as the others watched Spock first reached out to her, then dropped to his knees before her. She embraced him, clutching his head to her waist, and even the excited shouting of their friends could not take their attention from each other.
Radcliffe Class of 1963
Fifth Anniversary Report
CHRISTINE CHAPEL KORBY. Address Chicago, Ill. Occupation Doctor, researcher in tropical diseases Degrees MD, Univ. of Chicago. Husband Roger (Univ. Of Penna., '57), June 17, 1963.
As my friend Nyota is only too aware, there is a special kind of exhilaration when one can work hand in hand with one's husband. I've secured my MD and am working further on a PhD, focusing on the markers that certain kinds of diseases leave on the body. I am hoping that some of my techniques will be able to assist archaeologists like my husband on the digs of the future.
Chicago has been remarkably hospitable for two aloof academics, but we manage to make it to both coasts many years, and we're always welcoming visitors to our dear city.
GAILA KANE. Address San Francisco, Calif. Occupation Student of the world.
While my lovely friends continue to add to their string of accomplishments, I concentrate on adding to my string of acquaintances. It is said that we are only six degrees separated from anyone on earth, and I am doing my best to make that number even smaller.
Of course, this isn't all superficial. I've begun to think of what I can do, in my position, to make the world a bit better as so many of my friends have. I'm sure I will find this way to be of service. We can only hope!
JANICE RAND. Address Greenwich Village, New York. Occupation Artist, model.
Hello to all from the center of the art world! I am happy to report that I am on the cusp of my art paying more of the bills than my modeling! Of course, much of my art also uses me as the model, but that's because I know what I'm doing. Even as these protesters and so-called "hippies" come into the city, women stand a bit separate. I feel sure that as long as I continue to focus on women as my subject, I will never run out of ideas.
And the modeling has brought me in closer contact with the greats of the art world than I would have been otherwise. Don't believe all that you read in the more sensational weeklies; we're actually a quite hard-working lot, toiling away in our studios by day and gathering in the evenings mostly to discuss the very art we've spent the day creating. Thanks to certain professors I'm able to more than hold my own in these free-wheeling discussions, and while I'm sure I'm not making myself a popular evening companion when I prove the men wrong, I figure I'm doing my part to uphold the honor of Radcliffe!
NYOTA UHURA. Address Berkeley, Calif. Occupation Assistant Professor, Linguistics, Univ. of Calif. at Berkeley. Degree PhD, Harvard University. Husband Spock '63, October 15, 1967.
The very happy news is that my husband and I have secured tenure track positions here at Berkeley. We are so fortunate to be able to do what we love and to work side by side. And now, of course, is an amazing time to be thinking about language-never before have I had such a sense of it being a living, breathing thing, with so many words bubbling up from the vibrant youth culture around us on the west coast. My focus is rapidly becoming the way in which the culture attempts to replace older words that are tarred with pain with newer words that speak of pride. This can be seen not only here and in other youth centers such as London and Paris, but also in former colonies as they struggle for independence. This summer Spock and I are traveling to Kenya and a few other countries on the African continent, not only to visit my extended family now that we are married, but also to do research on the neologisms that have arisen.
I've learned to enjoy teaching as well, which is an unexpected benefit. I had often worried, when I was at school, whether I was letting down the movement by opting for the academic life. But quite the opposite: I've realized that I can be a symbol for the movement every time I stand in front of a class and lecture, as a Black woman with an advanced degree. I can be a role model, even a source of inspiration to certain students, merely by being visible.
The other great change, of course, is that we were married last year, once the Loving decision was announced. It is amazing to know that our marriage will be legal in every state, but as Spock is wont to say, there is so much left to be done to ensure that the world that we will be bringing our mixed-race children into will be ready to receive them.
Part Two
Part Three
Title: Girls To Talk To
Pairing: Janice Rand/Christine Chapel, with Spock/Nyota Uhura. Also James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy and Gaila/Montgomery Scott
Rating: R/Mature
Summary: Four young women meet as Radcliffe freshmen in 1959.
Warning: ( skip) None.
Length: 21,000 words
Notes: All graphics by my partner in this big bang, kymericl
A companion fic to When the Game Ends We'll Sing Again, this time about those Radcliffe ladies. References and influences at the end.
Thanks to verity, the_dala, and weepingnaiad for their help in shaping the story, and ali_wildgoose for the amazing beta job.
Lesley to bed,
Wellesley to wed,
Radcliffe girls to talk to.
When Janice Rand arrived in the Radcliffe Quadrangle, she was thankful that her grandmother had taught her how to keep up appearances. Her shoes were shined, her collar starched and white, and she'd travelled in a pleated skirt to reduce wrinkling. Her trunk had been shipped ahead of her, and in it was the result of an entire summer spent working in the local coffee shop by day and sewing the fabric she'd purchased by night. They'd used the smartest McCall's patterns, the nicest fabrics she could afford, and there was no reason Janice should feel shabby at all.
Yet, standing with her little case in one hand and her portfolio in the other, she saw all the other girls in their machine-knit woolens and embroidered jackets, and suddenly felt rather awkward. She felt a touch on her elbow, and looked up to see a girl, not much older than herself, in a black and white striped sweater.
"Can I help you get to your hall?" she asked, smiling broadly. "I'm in the Key, so you can ask me anything!"
"Yes, this letter says I'm in Bertram Hall?" she asked.
The girl indicated which staircase-she called it an "entryway"-was Janice's, and then said, "Don't forget the mixer tonight, down in Radcliffe Yard!" So many people to meet! Janice had never been shy, but she'd also never been out of her hometown.
The entryway was cool and sun-lit as she climbed the stairs to her third-floor room. Such old, sturdy buildings, and she couldn't help thinking of the women who'd been here before her. She walked into the large room and saw a Negress perched atop one of the desks, staring out the window. She was wearing a smart suit and her long straight black hair was slicked back into a high ponytail.
"Hello," the girl said, slipping off the desk and walking toward Janice. Her voice was low and friendly. "I'm Nyota Uhura. I know you said on your residence form that you wouldn't mind sharing with a Negro, but it can be different in person, so I wanted to say no hard feelings and I can move out any time." She smiled, but Janice could tell it was forced and just a little nervous.
Janice smiled back as warmly as she could. "I hope you don't move out, as you're the first person I've met here. I'm Janice Rand and I'm a scholarship student, so I hope that you won't mind sharing with me!"
Nyota laughed as she shook Janice's hand. "Of course I won't."
"Good, because you're quite pretty and I would very much like to draw you sometime."
"You're an artist?" Nyota asked.
There was a bit of a commotion at the door then, and a familiar-looking red-haired girl stumbled in, giggling and tugging her trunk after her. "Oh dear," she said. "That wasn't the dignified entrance I was hoping for. I knew the trunk needed one more big push but I may have been over-enthusiastic!" She held out her hand. "My name is Gaila."
"I'm Nyota," she said, "and this is Janice."
"Pleased to meet you both," Gaila replied, her ringlets bouncing.
Janice glanced down at Gaila's trunk and noted that her last name, Kane, matched that of one of the lecture halls in Harvard Yard. Then she realized why she recognized Gaila: that very June, Janice had poured over the photos of the society wedding of the year in the rotogravure section of the local paper. Gaila had been one of the bridesmaids, her older sister the bride, and Janice never forgot a face. She felt the nerves return. Gaila seemed friendly, but she was a real heiress, and Janice would be living with her for a whole year.
"I know it seems like quite a lot," Gaila was saying, "but I've never lived someplace cold before! Only traveled there for the skiing. San Francisco never really gets cold enough for big coats and such."
"I haven't, either," Janice admitted. "But I did spend the spring knitting, so I'm hoping that the sweaters I have will suffice."
"You knit? How wonderful!" Gaila said. "I'm always envious of anyone who can be useful. Finishing school does not teach you anything that can actually help anyone, other than French. It's rather frustrating. I'm hoping for more, here."
"She's also an artist of some sort," Nyota said.
"Are you really?" Gaila asked. "I hope you brought some of your work."
"Works in progress," Janice said. "They're quite unfinished."
Gaila waved a hand. "No matter. I'd very much love to see them, if you like." She paused. "Sorry. I can be demanding! Feel free to say 'no, Gaila' at any time! I also talk far too much, so you girls shouldn't let me run my mouth like this. Nyota, you should tell us all about yourself now. I mean, if you want to."
"Well," Nyota began, as Janice went to get out her portfolio, "I've lived in a few cold places. My father is a diplomat and we've travelled often, though our permanent home is in New York. I also speak French, and I find it very useful, particularly if you don't want other people to know what you're talking about."
"You're devious," Gaila said, wagging a finger at Nyota. "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it? Well, we'll get along fine. We'll confound everyone's assumptions about us!"
"Am I the last to arrive?"
They all turned to the door and saw their fourth roommate, flanked by what must have been her parents. She had chin-length blonde hair and reminded Janice of Eva Marie Saint in the new Hitchcock movie, all cool competence, the very picture of a Radcliffe girl. And yet, Janice didn't feel nervous at all.
"That's fine," Janice said. "We all only just arrived. I'm Janice Rand, and this is Nyota Uhura, and this is Gaila." She went along with Gaila's apparent reluctance to broadcast her last name; perhaps she wanted to be known for something other than her family.
"My name is Christine Chapel," she said, "and these are my parents."
"We just came to see our girl settled in," said Mr. Chapel. "You all must be hungry after your travels. Can we treat you nice ladies to a sandwich before we head on home?"
Which is how Janice found herself sitting in a large booth at a nearby diner, feeling very grown up with her chicken salad platter and coffee, not an ice cream soda in sight. She sat across from Christine, between Gaila and Nyota, as they all talked about their study plans.
"Our Christine is a scientist," said Mrs. Chapel.
"Oh Mother," Christine said, blushing a little. "I've only had that summer program so far. I hope to be a scientist, or a physician at least. I admit that I love being in the lab and poking at things to see how they work."
"And is that an engagement ring?" Nyota asked.
Janice hadn't noticed before, but there was a diamond ring on Christine's third finger, and she felt oddly disappointed to see it.
"Yes," she replied. "Roger really is a scientist; he's getting his PhD now. He was one of the instructors at my summer program."
"My, my," Gaila said. "Not even at college yet and you've got your MRS!"
"What about you, Gaila?" Janice asked, hoping to change the subject.
"I haven't made up my mind!" she said. "There are so many possibilities and I'm interested in just about everything. But I do like to travel, so perhaps some sort of world history?"
"Will you be studying art, Janice?" Nyota asked.
"Art history, yes," she replied. "Then I can work in a museum, or perhaps a gallery."
"But not painting yourself?"
"You paint?" asked Mrs. Chapel. "How marvelous!"
"I do," she admitted, feeling shy. "I'm not sure well enough to call myself an artist, but I've had a lot of encouragement, and I plan to take a studio class here and there. But Radcliffe isn't an art school; I came here to become a bit more well-rounded. I come from a small town, and would like to learn all I can."
"An admirable attitude," proclaimed Mr. Chapel. "You'll be a good influence on our Chrissy. Not that she needs much urging to hit the books-more like to get her nose out of them!"
"Oh, Dad," Christine said.
"You can count on me for that, Mr. Chapel," Gaila said, winking, and he laughed.
"What about you, Miss Uhura?" Mrs. Chapel asked. "And may I say, what a beautiful and unusual name you have."
"Thank you," she replied. "My grandfather immigrated from East Africa just before the first World War. Now my father works for the United Nations, so I've been lucky enough to travel quite a lot. And I've always been good with languages. I plan on taking Russian this year. Perhaps I'll be a diplomat, myself."
"I'm sure you'll find much demand for such a skill," Mr. Chapel said. "And at least our government knows well enough to hire talent whether they're a white man or a Negro or a Chinaman or whatnot. I know it's easy for me to say, as we live in Pennsylvania and there isn't much trouble going on there, but still." He rapped his fingertips on the desk to emphasize his point.
"Thank you, Mr. Chapel," Nyota said. "I appreciate the support."
"Well, of course, dear," Mrs. Chapel said. "And if Christine decides to bring you up to the summer cottage, Mr. Chapel will make sure there's no nonsense about it."
Mr. Chapel nodded. "That I will do. A nice gang of girls here for you, Chrissy," he said, holding her hand. "Yes indeed, a real nice gang of girls."
They left soon after, trotting up ahead a bit to allow Christine to say good-bye to her parents privately, then returned to their room to freshen up before that evening's freshmen mixer in Radcliffe Yard.
"Thank you so much for humoring my parents," Christine said, looking a little embarrassed. "They're pretty square, but they do mean well."
"I don't know if I'd call an integrationist square," Nyota replied.
"Then you should have seen how relieved my father was that I wouldn't be a single girl at college," she replied. "I went to an all-girls boarding school and he'd much rather I'd gone to Wellesley or Smith or Bryn Mawr than here. Happily Roger helped to convince him."
"Quite a convenient fiancé," Gaila said.
"He's very forward-looking," Christine replied. "Now, what I'd like to see, is Janice's art."
"Yes, you never did show it to us earlier," Nyota said.
Well, she couldn't avoid it forever. She lived with these girls now. "All right," she said, and laid her portfolio case open on one of the desks. "It's mostly sketches and little watercolors-so much easier to do on the train." She put her hands behind her back, so she could wring them together without looking too awfully nervous.
"Oh my," Gaila said. "These are really lovely. Who is this boy and girl? It seems like you know them."
"My brother and sister," Janice says. "I helped my grandmother take care of them after our parents died."
"I'm so sorry," Gaila said.
"How long ago was that?" Nyota asked.
"About five years now," Janice replied. "They were too young to really remember."
"I'm sure you've told your siblings all about them," Christine said.
Janice smiled at her. "I have."
Christine looked closer at a sketch Janice had made of one of her fellow travelers. "How much life you get in so few lines," she said. "So economical."
Janice shrugged. "Well, when you're sketching on a train …"
"But I think it's just your style," Christine went on, looking at some of the watercolors. "You use just a few colors but they're so bright. Is this what you usually work with?"
"Actually no," Janice said, a bit surprised at the depth of Christine's questions. "I prefer oils and pastels. As you say, I like bright colors."
"Well, I don't know nearly as much about art as either of you," Nyota said, "but I agree that these people, they almost come right off the page. I feel almost as if I know them."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Christine said, taking a step back. "I didn't mean to dominate the conversation. I just took a few art appreciation classes at school."
"Not at all," Nyota said. "I love learning what other people know. Isn't that what we're here for, after all?"
Christine put her hand atop Janice's and squeezed, and when Janice turned toward her she smiled. "Then I will use my very slight expert knowledge to say that you really must continue with your own work. At least, I hope you will."
"Well, with all you girls to encourage me, it would be wrong not to," Janice replied, but she was looking at Christine all the while. "And now we really should go, shouldn't we?"
The four girls walked the few blocks from the Quad to Radcliffe Yard for the freshman mixer. A tent had been set up with plenty of lights underneath and hundreds of girls were wandering to and fro. Many of them already seemed to know Gaila.
"You know how it is," she said. "Boarding school, group trips, weddings, summer parties, that sort of thing. But I want to meet new people, not the sort you see in the same old places."
Janice very much didn't know, but could imagine, based on what she'd read in the copies of Vogue and Town and Country she'd found in the library. Gaila didn't act much like those heiresses seemed to, so it was no wonder she wanted to meet other people. Christine knew a few girls as well, from both school and the town where her parents had a summer home.
Even Nyota attracted the other Negro girls in their class-apparently there was a club they all belonged to, though they said anyone was welcome to come and discuss the protest movements that had been growing in the south. The three other girls all pledged that they would like to, very much. Funny how distant it had all seemed on the news, but now that it affected her roommate it felt all the more urgent. Janice wondered if any of those other Negro girls had met Dr. King or the lawyers who'd argued the Brown case.
Of course Janice knew no one save her roommates, but as she looked around the yard she couldn't imagine that she was the only girl who'd be saving her pennies and working at the library during her free hours. At least, she very much hoped she wouldn't be.
The four of them ended up near the gate, talking mostly among themselves. Then Nyota, looking out toward the street, made a tutting sound with her tongue. She cocked her head and crossed her arms. "And what are you gentlemen doing here?" she asked.
A handsome young man, blond with intense blue eyes, smiled. "It's a mixer," he said. "We came to mix."
Nyota rolled her eyes, which Janice couldn't understand-she certainly wouldn't mind having the attention of such a man.
He extended his hand. "I'm James T. Kirk. And you are?"
She shook it reluctantly. "Miss Uhura," she replied.
"No first name?" he asked.
"Not for you," she replied.
Gaila moved forward quickly. "My name is Gaila! I'm her roommate."
"Well, Gaila, Miss Uhura, it's very nice to meet you both," Mr. Kirk said. "May I introduce Scott-we call him Scotty, Bones McCoy, and Mr. Spock. Say, Spock, you can converse with Miss Uhura on the freedom of lacking a first name." He nudged his somber-looking friend ever so slightly in Nyota's direction. "While I talk a bit more with the lovely Gaila. Do you happen to have a last name, or is your room just for women with one name?"
Gaila giggled, and Janice was struck at the way she behaved just the same with boys as she did with girls. "You know that nice grey stone lecture hall in Harvard Yard?" she asked
"Yeah," Mr. Kirk replied. "I think I'm going to have a history class there. Why?"
She leaned forward, forcing the three boys to lean toward her. "That's my last name," she whispered.
"Does that make you a madcap heiress?" Mr. Kirk asked, grinning. "Because one of the things I wanted to do when I got to Harvard was meet a madcap heiress." He smiled.
"Not yet but maybe I should be!" She giggled again, then turned to Janice and Chris. "These are our other roommates, Christine Chapel and Janice Rand."
"Hello," Janice said, shaking their hands.
"Janice is an artist," Gaila said.
Janice felt her face flushing. "Gaila, I'm merely a serviceable painter!" she protested.
"I'm sure I'd love to see your work," the man called Scotty said, and Janice had to smile.
Christine was hesitant to join their little party, and Janice wondered if she worried that her engaged status would cause awkward feelings. But Gaila pulled her closer, announcing, "And Christine is going to be a doctor."
"Is that so?" Mr. McCoy said, moving closer. "So am I."
"I should warn you," Christine said, lifting up her left hand, "that I'm engaged to be married."
Mr. McCoy took yet another step toward her. "Well," he said, smiling, "so am I."
"Oh!" Christine said, surprised, and her shoulders relaxed.
"Bones's excuse is that he met his girl when he was a toddler or something, but how did a young girl like yourself get taken so quickly?" Mr. Kirk asked.
"He was teaching at a summer program I attended, at Bryn Mawr," Christine replied. "He's a medical archaeologist, finishing his PhD at Penn."
"Well," Scott said, "clearly us mere mortals cannot compete with that."
"Oh honestly," Nyota said, looking at the gate beyond them.
Janice looked up to see that while the boys talking to them might have been the first Harvard men to get the bright idea to crash the Radcliffe mixer, they were far from the last.
An enthusiastic looking girl with a Crimson Key sweater on walked by. "Oh don't worry, ladies!" she called out. "It's a tradition for the boys to crash our party eventually!"
Janice was secretly pleased that they had been near the gate and therefore had been the first girls spoken to, especially by someone as handsome as Mr. Kirk, but Nyota just shook her head.
Mr. Kirk grinned. "Apres moi, le deluge."
"I know you didn't think much of them at first, Nyota," Gaila said when they were back in their room, "but I thought those boys were charming, almost sweet really."
"That serious one, Spock was it?" Christine said. "He seemed to take a liking to you."
"He did," Nyota admitted. "I suppose they weren't so bad, aside from that Mr. Kirk."
"Oh Nyota," Janice said, "he did ask us to call him Jim."
"I thought his friend Leonard was very kind," Christine said. "I think Roger would be relieved, to know that I'm making friends with other engaged people. And we'll have so many classes together."
"And there you are," Gaila said. "That leaves Scotty and Jim for Jan and me. And I don't think I have to ask which one Jan hopes will be calling on us soon."
"Jan, a boy like that can't be anything like serious," Nyota said.
"I know the type," Janice replied. "A little arrogant and full of themselves, used to having any girl they please. But they do know how to make a lady feel special. Besides he's here on scholarship, just like me. And I don't know, something about him-he might be a good friend to have, I think, even if he'd make for a bad beau."
"I hope so," Nyota said, "because he's going to be in my Russian class every morning!"
"Diplomacy is an excellent skill to develop," Christine replied. "But may I ask, about Spock-I think he may be Jewish. And would you prefer a Negro boy?"
Nyota shrugged. "His religion doesn't matter much; one white boy is the same as the next. I can't imagine that he would be serious about me. Though there have been some Jewish people involved in the movement. They have some understanding of what we're up against, I suppose. And I expect that the Negro boys will be along soon enough." She sighed. "But thank you for asking, Christine, and not just assuming."
"If it's questions you want," Gaila said, "how do you get your hair so wonderfully sleek?"
"I'll tell you," she said, "just as soon as Jan shows us how she did that lovely thing with her hair!"
"Yes, Jan," Chris added. "You almost make me want to grow my hair again! Or get a fall, just so I could try that lovely woven affect you've achieved."
"Oh," Janice said, patting her head. "Everyone in my hometown is so used to it, I'd forgotten. It's really quite easy and yes, Chris, you could do it with a fall. I'd be happy to show it to you."
"I just knew that college would be like this!" Gaila said. "A lovely long slumber party, only with books and the occasional boy!"
"Now Gaila," Chris said. "You know that the three of us, we have to get ready for careers after this. We have to take this seriously."
"I will, too," Gaila said. "I promise. I'm really quite intelligent and I'm sure you all will inspire me to crack down and work hard. It's just so easy to seem silly, and it puts people at ease, you see."
"I understand completely," Janice said. "So many people, they don't much like a smart girl, so you have to smooth out the rough edges a bit."
"Can we all agree to put an end to that?" Nyota asked. "We're all smart girls in our own ways or we wouldn't be here. I say we let that show! Out in the world they might not like it so much, but at Radcliffe I believe it's encouraged."
Gaila nodded. "We're all 'black stockings' as the boys apparently call us," she said. "We may as well act like them."
"Perhaps we can help each other," Christine said. "Old habits are so hard to break, and it will be so nice to have other intelligent girls to talk to."
"We can pinky swear, as we did in the playground," Janice said. "I think all four of us can hook them together, can't we?"
Gaila wasn't familiar with the concept, so they showed her, and when they all had their fingers crooked around each other they began to giggle.
"This is serious," Nyota said, though she was laughing too. "We are swearing that for the next four years, we will let everyone see the smart girls-no, women, the smart women that we are. Do you swear to this?"
"I swear!" they all said, as solemnly as they could.
Janice looked at her roommates-her friends, now, she was sure of it-and thought about four years spent learning, and allowing oneself to be that smart girl. She could scarcely believe that it was happening, but she could hug herself, she was so glad of it.
Christine was trying to work-really she was-but she couldn't quite concentrate on her latest results for her thesis experiments. Usually the sound of Janice working, and jazz on the phonograph, was a soothing background that allowed for productivity, but her anticipation made her too nervous.
"Don't think I can't hear you sighing over there," Janice said.
"Sorry," Christine said, and put her pen down. "My stomach is in knots over poor Nyota. I thought my data might take my mind off, but then I remember discussing it with Leonard, and then that makes me think of Spock, and I feel sad all over again."
"Of course you're upset," Janice said. "Of the four of us you're the one who has the best idea of what she's going through, since you're in love as well."
"True," Christine said. "I'm not sure I could do what she's doing. Roger is central to all of my work, and to pull him out of the middle of it would be devastating."
Janice cocked her head. "Remember, you're becoming a doctor for yourself as well," she said.
"Of course," Christine said. "Of course I am."
"Good," she said. "So you can take a look at this? Give me your honest opinion?"
Christine set her work down, chalking it up as a loss for now, and moved behind Janice to look down at what she'd been working on: a small blue bird in a tree. "It is awfully twee," Christine said.
"I just wanted to make something happy today," she said.
"Lord knows we'll need it," Christine said, patting Janice on the shoulder, and Janice reached up to grasp her hand. "And thanks, for the reminder."
"That's what friends are for, isn't it?" Janice said, turning to look her in the eye.
The front door of their suite opened and Gaila rushed in. "Is she back yet?" she asked.
"No," Janice replied.
"Good," she said, and collapsed into a nearby chair. "I admire you girls for being able to work. I was at the library but I can't remember a single bit of the reading I did."
Janice sat back and sighed. "You're not alone," she said, pushing back an errant lock of hair and streaking her cheek with the green pastel dust that had accumulated on her palm. "This is rubbish. And I only need one last piece for the final show."
"And I can't make heads or tails of my latest results," Christine said. "I simply cannot concentrate."
"I'll make some tea," Gaila said. "That always helps."
By the time they'd drained their cups, Nyota had arrived back in the room. She looked drained and no sooner had she shut the door behind her than all three of her roommates had jumped up to embrace her and then settle her in the middle of their couch. Christine and Janice sat on either side, while Gaila perched on the quickly cleared coffee table.
"Can I make you a cup of tea, dear?" Gaila asked.
"No," Nyota said, sighing. "I'm fine."
"Of course you're not fine," Janice said, "nor should you be."
"You needn't pretend for us," Christine added. "So what did he say."
"He didn't say anything," Nyota replied. "We went for a walk and I presented all of my reasons for ending our romance-the difference in race and religion, my obligation to the movement-and he listened to me as he always does. Poor lamb, he'd started our conversation saying that we should be coordinating our graduate school applications. He had no idea. I wonder if I deceived him somehow."
"Oh I don't think so," Gaila said, soothingly.
"And then he said that clearly I'd given this a great deal of thought, and my arguments were sound. He had no desire to interfere with whatever work I felt I needed to do in order to, as he said, improve our imperfect world. He felt there was no reasonable counter argument to make. And then-" she smiled through the tears in her eyes-"then he said that while this wasn't the outcome he'd hoped for, that he was relieved that we could part as friends, that he'd done nothing to diminish my feelings for him. And I said that if anything I admired him even more, for the respect he'd always shown to me. Then he walked me back here and kissed me goodbye."
"Darling, I'm so sorry," Janice said, wrapping an arm around her.
"If even Spock feels I'm doing the right thing, then I must be," she said. "Everyone thinks so. I just-oh I wish it didn't hurt so much!"
"Come here dear," Christine said, pulling Nyota's head against her shoulder. "You can cry now; it's okay."
"You're doing what you feel is right," Janice said. "That's the important bit. We can help you face the sadness now, but you must be able to look yourself in the mirror in several years' time."
Gaila had taken her hand. "And I say that the first way we can help you is by having ice cream for dinner, and then bringing back a bottle or three of wine and listening to every single girl group record not just in this room, or this entryway, but in the entirety of South House!"
Nyota chuckled a little in spite of herself. "I admit I could do with some Supremes right about now."
"That's right!" Gaila said, standing. "Singing and crying and drinking red wine got my mother through all of her divorces, so it's good enough for us!" She pulled Nyota to her feet. "Come on, girls, let's change. Capris are dressed up enough for the soda shop."
As they walked away, Janice turned to Christine, still next to her on the couch. "Poor Nyota. I've never been in love so I can't imagine, though I'm sure you can."
"I could never be so brave as to give up a man like Spock," Christine said, "nor yet Roger. It must be wrenching, to not be able to love as you please."
Janice looked at her with a sudden kind of intensity, the way she stared at an object she might draw or paint, and Christine felt self-conscious. "Yes," she said. "It must be."
The spring had been a solemn thing, with all of them working diligently on their senior projects. The boys down in Lowell House were busy as well, of course, but had been scarce for other reasons. Christine only saw Leonard when they bumped into each other in the lab, and found that she missed him a great deal. It didn't help that Roger had been nearly incommunicado on a dig in Rhodesia since the Christmas holiday.
But blessed, blessed spring break had arrived, and all that work was behind them. For the first time the boys didn't join them at the Chapel summer home in the Poconos, opting instead for the McCoy beach cottage down in South Carolina. The girls understood; Nyota and Spock's wounds were still raw, the hurt still recent. But the house felt empty without them.
They'd spent much of the day playing lawn bowling out on the village green, a welcome distraction and a good excuse to get out of the house. They'd lingered over dinner, as they often did, and now they were sitting on the floor in the living room, backs against the couches and chairs, finishing off their second bottle of wine. Christine didn't recall their drinking quite as much wine during previous vacations as they had on this trip. It wasn't just Nyota's grief; Christine could feel the future coming, a door closing behind her, horizons narrowing. A future she'd happily chosen four years ago when she was a very different girl, but then, no one gets everything they want.
"We are dull girls," Gaila said suddenly. "And I can't see any reason for it! Just because the fellas aren't here doesn't mean we can't have any fun."
Nyota raise an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting we go down to the tavern and entertain the local boys?"
"Of course not! Pah on all boys, I say. No, we can make our own fun, like we did in boarding school. Right, Christine?"
"I don't know what you mean," Christine said stiffly, though she wasn't sure why.
Then Gaila winked at her and made a kissing face, saying, "Of course you do."
"Kissing games?" Janice asked.
Gaila shrugged. "When there are no boys around, why not kiss the other girls? It's just in fun, and none of us have had a proper date in weeks. Besides, who would I want to kiss so well as my girls?"
Christine felt rooted to the spot with no idea how to respond. She turned to Nyota, who had the same hard, defiant expression she'd worn so often since her break-up with Spock. "I would have no objection to some fun," she said, sounding like her former beau. "I'm not too proud to admit that I've missed the kissing. Among other things."
Janice looked at Christine. "Radcliffe is supposed to make us sophisticated women of the world, right?" she asked. "Though you always have been, really."
Then Christine thought, the hell with the future. It could-would-take care of itself. "If that's so," she said, "then what do we need the bottle for?"
"That's the way, Christine!" Gaila said. She leaned over and in that cheerful manner only she could manage, pulled Nyota into a kiss. Janice and Christine watched Nyota respond passionately, almost greedily, and it wasn't long before Gaila had climbed into her lap.
"So," Christine said, "I suppose it's just you and I." She felt suddenly shy.
But Janice was smiling and putting her hand on Christine's knee. "I suppose so," she replied, and they were leaning in closer, giving in to the inexorable pull.
Their lips met and it was everything Christine had hoped and feared, a roar in her ears and a crackle in the air and every cliche she'd ever read in a dime store paperback. They kissed again, and again, and again until they were breathing each other's air, pressed up against each other as though they could push through skin. In the far-off distance Christine could hear a sound but she paid it no mind, preferring to concentrate on the soft press of her tongue against Janice's.
At last they pulled apart, breathless, and Christine realized the sound was Nyota clearing her through while Gaila giggled.
"My, we won't have to worry about you two, will we?" Gaila said. They were standing now, holding hands. "We're going up to your and Nyota's room, so you and Janice can use ours, all right?"
Christine couldn't quite find her voice so she merely nodded, and she could see Janice doing the same out of the corner of her eye.
"Good. Have a nice night," Gaila said, winking and waving before leading Nyota up the stairs.
Janice shrugged. "Might as well go up ourselves," she said.
Christine nodded, but she needed a moment to breathe, to let this all sink in, what they were about to do-what she wanted to do. So she wandered around the ground floor, turning off lights and bringing the wine glasses and empty bottle into the kitchen, and Janice followed her. And it did give her space to think, but was also such a domestic ritual that her mind went to other places, other ways of living that, she knew, weren't possible.
The summer cottage had five bedrooms upstairs, one a master for Christine's parents (who of course weren't there) and four rooms each with two twin beds. Even though the boys weren't with them, the girls had doubled up as they usually did, so Janice and Christine walked into the room that Janice was sharing with Gaila. Unsurprisingly Gaila's side of the room looked as though her suitcase had exploded onto her bed; Gaila had the kind of disorganized messiness that came from growing up with a staff to clean up after you, though she always did her part in the common areas.
Janice's bed, though, was tidy and inviting, and they sank down onto it, eager to get back to kissing. Christine wondered if this was how boys felt all the time, thinking about kissing and about what was under girl's blouses and all of that. They were laying on top of each other, rolling as much as they could on the narrow bed, legs entwined, and it was a strange thing to feel Janice pressed against her, soft and warm. She didn't want to open her eyes, lest the moment vanish, and so used her other senses to guide her. Christine felt along Janice's waist, slipping her hands under the other girl's cotton top and then over her bra.
"Wait," Janice said, as best she could when they were still kissing. "Wait."
Christine pulled back. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No!" Janice said. "No, I just, here, sit up."
Christine did and Janice followed. Then, watching Christine all the while, she took off her top, her shorts and panties, and her bra. Janice had seen her naked briefly a few times, of course-they'd shared a room for nearly four years-but now, in the moonlight coming through the window and the one small light on the nightstand, her creamy skin glowed and Christine could stare all she wanted at Janice's curves.
Janice reached up to her hair and began removing pins, pieces of hair falling into her face as she did so. "Well?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"Isn't it your turn?"
"Oh! Yes," Christine said, and took off her own clothes, rather more clumsily she thought, but Janice seemed appreciative enough.
Janice put her handful of hairpins on the nightstand and shook her hair, looking like that girl who'd come out of the sea in that spy movie Jim was so fond of. "Did you do more than kissing, when you were at boarding school?" Janice asked.
"Yes," Christine admitted.
"Then you know what to do now."
"I think you probably have a good idea," Christine said, before pushing Janice back down onto the bed.
It was an easy thing after that, kissing and stroking breasts and buttocks while their thighs were busy rubbing and squeezing against each other. They would have made quite a sight, gasping and cooing as they humped more and more desperately, chasing that elusive "little death," and that was something Christine knew, to keep going until they got the fireworks. But it seemed to take no time at all before Janice's breath hitched and her muscles tightened, with Christine following shortly after that.
Christine rolled off onto her back to catch her breath, and glanced over at Janice, whose long yellow hair was spread out across the bedspread. She smiled at Christine, then giggled.
"I think I know now why they always smoke after, in movies," she said, and reached for the pack of Camels and the lighter sitting in the small metal ashtray.
Christine sat up and opened the window next to the bed. The room looked out into the back, so no one would be able to see two nude girls leaning on the sill, blowing smoke into the warm night air.
They were quiet for a moment, then Janice asked, "Did all the girls do more than kiss?"
"No," Christine said. "And many of them stopped when they got themselves boyfriends."
"But you didn't stop."
Christine took another drag to buy herself time to answer. "I didn't have a boyfriend, and I was curious. When I was a sophomore one of the senior girls showed me, after a party, and for some nights after that. There was a small circle of girls who did more than kiss, and I ended up among them. And when I was a senior, I showed the younger girls in my turn."
"My goodness," Janice said. "But I suppose those girls are married now?"
"Most of them, yes," Christine said. "And I soon will be."
"Is it different with Roger, then?" Janice asked.
"Yes," Christine said, "though I'm not sure I'd say it's better. But he takes good care of me, and he seems enthusiastic about my becoming a scientist, and really, that's so much more than other men."
"You're a lucky girl," Janice said. "Everyone thinks so."
Christine turned to her. "But do you? Sometimes I wonder. I said yes to him four years ago and so much has happened since then. I wonder if I'm even the same girl."
"If you want to marry him, then you should," Janice said. "Do you?"
Christine looked out at the trees, and thought of Roger's brilliance, the way he encouraged her when almost no one else would, how he accepted nothing less than brilliance from everyone around him, and even then had singled her out as his choice even though half the girls in the program had set their caps for him. She thought of his letters, long and thoughtful and never condescending but expecting her to rise to his level. "I do."
"Well that's that," Janice said, and a long, comfortable silence followed.
Then Janice said, "I wonder what might have happened to me if I had known a girl like the ones you knew at school."
"What do you mean?"
"I think-I think I've always liked girls rather more than I should," Janice said. "I would go to the movies and have a funny feeling about Kim Novak or Grace Kelly, and sometimes about a woman I saw in the street. I just didn't think there was anything to be done about it."
"I see."
Janice cocked her head. "Am I shocking you?" she asked, worried.
"Not really," Christine replied, and put her hand on Janice's thigh to reassure her. "I mean, I hadn't noticed, of course, but I know there are such girls. They all seem to go to New York."
"Yes," Janice said. "I'll admit, when I met Jim, and he made me feel just like those movie stars did, I had a little hope. But he moved on, and so did my ideas of having a life like other women."
"Oh Janice," Christine said. "Do you really think so?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "Please, Christine, don't say anything."
"Of course not," Christine replied. "Though you know, I've even read that some people are trying to get it reclassified, so it won't be a disease anymore? And at least you'll be an artist, among artistic people. I'm sure that will make it much easier."
"I hope so," Janice said, "because there's nothing for it. But I'm so glad you were my first girl."
"So am I," Christine said. Then, before she could over-think it, she continued, "You're the dearest girl, Janice, really you are. You should have all the best things. You've already had it so hard with your family and all; it seems wrong for life to give you more burdens to carry. I just wish I could make this better for you."
She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and smiled. "How about showing me everything those boarding school girls taught you," Janice said.
Christine was up first, putting the coffee on and picking up the paper from the stoop. Janice came in next and to her relief there wasn't a bit of awkwardness over the events of the night before. They were planning out a breakfast of eggs and bacon when the other two girls came down.
"Now girls, I hope no one feels bashful about last night," Gaila said.
"Not at all," Janice replied. "Should we?"
"Of course not!" Gaila said, smiling broadly. "Also Nyota has something she'd like to say."
Nyota sat down at the kitchen table. "I want him back," she said. "The entire evening, all the while I was kissing Gaila, I was thinking of Spock, wondering what he was doing. I know I made the decision to end things with him for all the right reasons but how could it be fair to any other man, to always be thinking of Spock?" She sighed. "I could live without him, but I don't want to."
Janice and Christine looked at each other, surprised. "You seemed so sure, last month," Janice said. "You'd thought it through so carefully."
"Maybe that was my problem," Nyota said. "Maybe you can't make these decisions only with your head."
"Then when we return to school, we'll talk to the boys," Christine said. "And we'll see what can be done."
"I hope he can forgive me," Nyota said.
"Of course he can," Gaila said. "You were so careful to explain that it wasn't him."
"And now that I've changed my mind?" she asked. "Quite a thing for a supposedly intelligent woman to be doing."
"I don't think being changeable means being capricious," Janice said. "I'd like to think that I'm flexible and open. And if I were him, I'd be so glad to have you back, I'm not sure I would worry overmuch about how it happened."
"Oh, you're such wonderful friends," Nyota said. "I'm so lucky to have met you."
"We're all lucky," Christine said. "But let's get breakfast on the table. It's spring clean-up day on the trails, and we all have to pitch in."
"Yes, and I think some nice physical labor will do us wonders," Janice replied.
They got up then and all set about cooking. But Christine couldn't help but think that in all the time she had spent kissing Janice last night, she'd never thought of Roger at all.
That night they were too tired for alcohol, and opted instead for ice cream sodas and a long game of four-handed rummy out on the porch once the sun went down. They were well into it when Christine noticed headlights sweeping across the back yard, indicating that a car had pulled into their driveway.
"Who could that be?" Janice asked.
"I don't know," Christine replied, setting down her cards to go to the door. Their little summer town was entirely private, so she wasn't worried about safety, figuring it was some neighbor returning a tool or similar item that one of them might have left behind during their work day.
But when she opened the door, she saw Jim, Len, Scotty and Spock standing on her back stoop. Three of the boys looked tired, but flushed with excitement, while Spock seemed almost green with nerves. And all at once she realized why they were there.
Christine opened the door, and seemed to take in the entire situation at a glance. "Nyota is out on the porch. Just a moment and I'll get her."
"Thanks," Jim said.
But Spock apparently couldn't wait, and started walking around the side of the house just as Nyota did the same. They met in the middle, under one of the lamps illuminating the side garden, and as the others watched Spock first reached out to her, then dropped to his knees before her. She embraced him, clutching his head to her waist, and even the excited shouting of their friends could not take their attention from each other.
Radcliffe Class of 1963
Fifth Anniversary Report
CHRISTINE CHAPEL KORBY. Address Chicago, Ill. Occupation Doctor, researcher in tropical diseases Degrees MD, Univ. of Chicago. Husband Roger (Univ. Of Penna., '57), June 17, 1963.
As my friend Nyota is only too aware, there is a special kind of exhilaration when one can work hand in hand with one's husband. I've secured my MD and am working further on a PhD, focusing on the markers that certain kinds of diseases leave on the body. I am hoping that some of my techniques will be able to assist archaeologists like my husband on the digs of the future.
Chicago has been remarkably hospitable for two aloof academics, but we manage to make it to both coasts many years, and we're always welcoming visitors to our dear city.
GAILA KANE. Address San Francisco, Calif. Occupation Student of the world.
While my lovely friends continue to add to their string of accomplishments, I concentrate on adding to my string of acquaintances. It is said that we are only six degrees separated from anyone on earth, and I am doing my best to make that number even smaller.
Of course, this isn't all superficial. I've begun to think of what I can do, in my position, to make the world a bit better as so many of my friends have. I'm sure I will find this way to be of service. We can only hope!
JANICE RAND. Address Greenwich Village, New York. Occupation Artist, model.
Hello to all from the center of the art world! I am happy to report that I am on the cusp of my art paying more of the bills than my modeling! Of course, much of my art also uses me as the model, but that's because I know what I'm doing. Even as these protesters and so-called "hippies" come into the city, women stand a bit separate. I feel sure that as long as I continue to focus on women as my subject, I will never run out of ideas.
And the modeling has brought me in closer contact with the greats of the art world than I would have been otherwise. Don't believe all that you read in the more sensational weeklies; we're actually a quite hard-working lot, toiling away in our studios by day and gathering in the evenings mostly to discuss the very art we've spent the day creating. Thanks to certain professors I'm able to more than hold my own in these free-wheeling discussions, and while I'm sure I'm not making myself a popular evening companion when I prove the men wrong, I figure I'm doing my part to uphold the honor of Radcliffe!
NYOTA UHURA. Address Berkeley, Calif. Occupation Assistant Professor, Linguistics, Univ. of Calif. at Berkeley. Degree PhD, Harvard University. Husband Spock '63, October 15, 1967.
The very happy news is that my husband and I have secured tenure track positions here at Berkeley. We are so fortunate to be able to do what we love and to work side by side. And now, of course, is an amazing time to be thinking about language-never before have I had such a sense of it being a living, breathing thing, with so many words bubbling up from the vibrant youth culture around us on the west coast. My focus is rapidly becoming the way in which the culture attempts to replace older words that are tarred with pain with newer words that speak of pride. This can be seen not only here and in other youth centers such as London and Paris, but also in former colonies as they struggle for independence. This summer Spock and I are traveling to Kenya and a few other countries on the African continent, not only to visit my extended family now that we are married, but also to do research on the neologisms that have arisen.
I've learned to enjoy teaching as well, which is an unexpected benefit. I had often worried, when I was at school, whether I was letting down the movement by opting for the academic life. But quite the opposite: I've realized that I can be a symbol for the movement every time I stand in front of a class and lecture, as a Black woman with an advanced degree. I can be a role model, even a source of inspiration to certain students, merely by being visible.
The other great change, of course, is that we were married last year, once the Loving decision was announced. It is amazing to know that our marriage will be legal in every state, but as Spock is wont to say, there is so much left to be done to ensure that the world that we will be bringing our mixed-race children into will be ready to receive them.
Part Two
Part Three