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An hour later, Miss Tredgold stood on the dock in New York’s Hudson River waiting to board her ship, finally to release her charge to adult life.
“I shall think of you from time to time, my dear,” she said, “and hope that my father was right about destiny.” Florentyna kissed Miss Tredgold on both cheeks and watched her mount the gangplank. When she reached the deck, Miss Tredgold turned, waved a gloved hand once and then hailed a porter, who picked up her bags and followed the stern-looking lady toward her cabin. She did not once look at Florentyna, who stood like a statue on the pier holding back the tears because she knew Miss Tredgold would not approve.
When Miss Tredgold reached her berth, she tipped the porter fifty cents and locked the door.
Winifred Tredgold sat down on the end of the bunk and wept unashamedly.
Chapter
Ten
Florentyna had not been so unsure about anything since her first day at the Girls Latin School. When she returned from her summer holiday in Europe with her father a thick manila envelope from Radcliffe was awaiting her. It contained all the details of when and where she should report, what to wear, a course catalogue and the “Red Book” detailing Radcliffe rules. Florentyna sat on her bed studiously taking in page after page of information until she came to Rule 11a: If you entertain a man in your room for tea, at all times the door must be kept ajar, and all four feet must always be touching the floor. Florentyna burst out laughing at the thought that the first time she made love it might be standing up, behind an open door, holding a cup of tea.
As the time drew nearer for her to leave Chicago, she began to realize just how much she had depended on Miss Tredgold. She packed three large suitcases, including all the new clothes she had bought on her European trip. Her mother, looking elegant in the latest Chanel suit, drove Florentyna to the station. When she boarded the train she was suddenly aware it was the first time she had traveled anywhere for any period of time without knowing somebody at the other end.
She arrived in Boston to find New England a beautiful contrast of September greens and yellows. An old school bus was waiting to transport students to the campus. As the ancient vehicle crossed the Charles, Florentyna looked through the back window to see the sun glinting off the dome of the State House. A few sails dotted the water, and eight enthusiastic students were pulling their oars through the wash while an older man on a bicycle shouted orders through a megaphone as he rode along the towpath. When the bus came to a halt at Radcliffe, a middle-aged woman in academic dress herded the freshmen into Longfellow Hall, where Florentyna had taken the Woolson exam. There they were briefed on which hall they would live in during their first year and their rooms were allocated to them. Florentyna drew room 7 in Whitman Hall. A sophomore helped her carry her bags across to Whitman and then left her to unpack.
The room smelled as if the painters had moved out only the day before. It was clear that she was to share with two other girls: there were three beds, three dressers, three desks, three desk chairs, three desk lamps, three pillows, three coverlets and three sets of blankets, according to the checklist that was left on the inside of the door. As there was no sign of her roommates, she chose the bed nearest the window and started to unpack. She was just about to unlock the last suitcase when the door was flung open and a large valise landed in the middle of the room.
“Hi,” said a voice that sounded to Florentyna more like a foghorn than a freshman from Radcliffe. “My name is Bella Hellaman. I’m from San Francisco.”
Bella shook hands with Florentyna, who immediately regretted the act as she smiled up at the six-foot giant who must have weighed well over two hundred pounds. Bella looked like a double bass and sounded like a tuba. She began to size up the room.
“I knew they wouldn’t have a bed large enough for me,” was her next pronouncement. “My headmistress did warn me that I should have applied to a men’s college.”
Florentyna burst out laughing.
“You won’t laugh so loud when I keep you awake all night. I toss and turn so much you’ll think you’re on board a ship,” Bella warned as she pushed open the window above Florentyna’s bed to let in the cool Boston air. “What time do they serve dinner at this place? I haven’t had a decent meal since I left California.”
“I’ve no idea, but it’s all in the Red Book,” said Florentyna, picking up her copy from the side of her bed. She started flicking through the pages until she reached “Meals, times of.” “Dinner, six-thirty to seven-thirty.”
“Then at the stroke of six-thirty,” Bella said, “I shall be under starter’s orders at the dining room door. Have you found out where the gymnasium is?”
“To be honest, I haven’t,” said Florentyna, grinning. “It wasn’t high on my list of priorities for the first day.”
There was a knock on the door, and Bella shouted, “Come in.” Florentyna later learned that it had not been a shout, just her normal speaking voice. Into the room stepped a Dresden china blonde, not a hair out of place, dressed in a neat dark-blue suit. She smiled, revealing a set of small, even teeth. Bella smiled back at her as though her dinner had arrived early.
“My name is Wendy Brinklow,” said a voice with a slight southern accent. “I think I’m sharing a room with you.” Florentyna wanted to warn her about Bella’s handshake, but it was too late. She watched Wendy cringe.
“You’ll have to sleep over there,” Bella said, pointing to the remaining bed. “You don’t by any chance know where the gymnasium is, do you?”
“Why should Radcliffe need a gymnasium?” said Wendy as Bella helped her in with her suitcases. Bella and Wendy started to unpack and Florentyna fiddled with her books, trying not to make it too obvious that she was fascinated by what came out of Bella’s suitcases. First there were goalie pads, a breast pad, and two pairs of cleats, then a face mask, which Florentyna tried on, and finally a pair of hockey gloves, all in addition to the two hockey sticks she had had strapped to the valise she had earlier flung into the room. Wendy had all her clothes in neat little piles packed away in her dresser before Bella had even worked out where to put her hockey sticks. Eventually she just threw them under the bed.
When they had finished unpacking, the three girls set off for the dining hall. Bella was the first to reach the cafeteria line and loaded her plate so full with meat and vegetables that she had to balance it on the palm of her hand. Florentyna helped herself to what she considered a normal amount and Wendy managed a couple of spoonfuls of salad. Florentyna was beginning to feel they resembled Goldilocks’s three bears.
Two of them had the sleepless night Bella had promised Florentyna and it was several weeks before either she or Wendy managed eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Years later, Florentyna discovered that she could slee
p anywhere, even in a crowded airport lounge, thanks to spending her freshman year with Bella.
Bella was the first freshman to play goalie for the Radcliffe varsity and she spent the year happily terrifying anyone who dared to try to score against her. She always shook hands with the few who did. Wendy spent much of the time being chased by men who visited the campus and some of the time being caught. She also passed more hours reading the Kinsey Report than her class notes.
“Darlings,” she said, eyes saucer-wide, “it’s a serious piece of academic work written by a distinguished professor.”
“The first academic work to sell over a million copies,” commented Bella, as she picked up her hockey sticks and left the room.
Wendy, seated in front of the one mirror in the room, was checking her lipstick.
“Who’s it this time?” asked Florentyna.
“No one in particular,” she replied. “But Dartmouth has sent their tennis team over to play Harvard and I couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Do you want to come along?”
“No thanks, but I would like to know the secret of how you find them,” said Florentyna, looking at herself appraisingly in the mirror. “I can’t remember when anyone other than Edward last asked me out.”
“It doesn’t take a lot of research,” said Wendy. “Perhaps you put them off.”
“How?” asked Florentyna, turning toward her.
Wendy put down her lipstick and picked up a comb. “You’re too obviously bright and intelligent, and not many men can handle that. You frighten them and that’s not good for their egos.”
Florentyna laughed.
“I’m serious. How many men would have dared to approach your beloved Miss Tredgold, let alone make a pass at her?”
“So what do you suggest I do about it?” asked Florentyna.
“You’re good-looking enough, and I don’t know anyone with a better dress sense, so just act dumb and massage their ego; then they feel they have to take care of you. It always works for me.”
