Sons of Fortune (12 page)

“But
he still took a hell of a risk going into your room when you weren’t there.”

“Not
when you’re the student president; he has the run of the place-no one questions
his coming or going. He would easily have had enough time to copy out the text
and return the original to my room the same evening without anyone being any
the wiser.”

“So
what have the board decided?”

“Thanks
to the principal going overboard on my behalf, Yale has agreed to defer my
application for a year.”

“So
Elliot gets away with it once again.”

“No,
he does not,” said Nat finally. “The principal worked out what must have
happened, because Yale has also withdrawn Elliot’s place.”

“But
that only delays the problem for a year,” said Tom.

“Happily
not,” said Nat, smiling for the first time.

“Mr.
Thompson also decided to step in, and rang the admissions
tutor,
with the result that Yale has not offered Elliot the chance to reapply.”

“Good
old
Thomo
,” said Tom. “So what are you planning to do
in your year? Join the Peace Corps?”

“No,
I’m going to spend the year at the University of Connecticut.”

“Why
U Conn?” asked Tom, “when you could
. .”

“Because
it was Rebecca’s first choice.” the president OF Yale stared down at a thousand
expectant freshmen. In a year’s time, some of them would have found the going
too tough and moved on to other universities, while others would have simply
given up. Fletcher Davenport and Jimmy Gates sat in the body of the hall and
listened intently to every word President Waterman had to say.

“Do
not waste a moment of your time while you are at Yale, or you will regret for
the rest of your life not having taken advantage of all this university has to
offer. A fool leaves Yale with only a degree, a wise man with enough knowledge
to face whatever life throws at him. Seize every opportunity that is offered to
you. Do not be frightened of any new challenge, and should you fail, there is
no reason to be ashamed. You will learn far more from your mistakes than from
your triumphs. Do not be afraid of your destiny. Be afraid of nothing.

Challenge
every writ, and let it not be said of you, I walked a path but never left an
imprint.”

The
president of Yale resumed his place after nearly an hour on his feet, and
received a prolonged standing ovation. Trent Waterman, who did not approve of
such displays, rose and left the stage.

“I
thought you weren’t going to join in the standing ovation?” said Fletcher to
his friend as they filed out of the hall.
was
“ Just
because everyone else has for the past ten years, doesn’t mean I shall join in
the ritual,” if I remember your sentiments correctly.”

“I
admit it, I was wrong,” said Jimmy.

“It
was even more impressive than my father had assured me it would be.”

“I
feel confident your endorsement will come as a relief to Mr. Waterman,” said
Fletcher, as Jimmy spotted a young woman laden with books walking a few paces
ahead of them.

“Seize
every opportunity,” he whispered in Fletcher’s ear. Fletcher wondered whether
to stop Jimmy making a complete fool of
himself
, or
just let him find out the hard way.

“Hi,
I’m Jimmy Gates. Would you like me to help you with your books?”

“What
did you have in mind, Mr. Gates?

Carrying
them, or reading them to me?” replied the woman, who didn’t break her stride.

“I
was thinking of carrying them to begin with, and then why don’t we see how it
goes from there?”

“Mr.
Gates, I have two rules I never break: dating a freshman and dating someone
with red hair.”

“Don’t
you think the time has come,” said Jimmy, “to break them both at once? After
all, the president did tell us to never be frightened of a new challenge.”

“Jimmy,”
said Fletcher, “I think
. .”

“Ah
yes, this is my friend Fletcher Davenport, he’s very clever, so he could help
you with the reading part.”

“I
don’t think so, Jimmy.”

“And
he’s also very modest, as you can see.”

“Not
a problem you suffer from, Mr. Gates.”

“Certainly
not,” said Jimmy. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Joanna
Palmer.”

“So
you’re obviously not a freshman, Joanna,” said Jimmy.

“No,
I’m not.”

“Then
you’re the ideal person to help and succor me.”

“What
do you have in mind?” asked Miss Palmer, as they climbed the steps to
Sudler
Hall.

“Why
don’t you invite me to supper this evening, and then you can tell me everything
I should know about Yale,” ventured Jimmy just as they came to a halt outside
the lecture hall. “Hey,” he said, turning to Fletcher, “isn’t this where we’re
meant to be?”

“Yes,
it is, and I did try to warn you.”

“Warn
me? About what?” asked Jimmy, as he opened the door for Miss Palmer and
followed her into the room hoping he could sit next to her. The undergraduates
immediately stopped talking, which took Jimmy by surprise.

“I
apologize for my friend, Miss Palmer,” whispered Fletcher, “but I can assure
you he has a heart of gold.”

“And
the balls to go with it, it would seem,” Joanna replied. “By the way, never let
him
know
, but I was extremely flattered that he
thought I might be a freshman.”

Joanna
Palmer placed her books on the long desk and turned to face the packed lecture
theater.

“The
French Revolution is the turning point of modern European history,” she began
to a rapt audience. “Although America had already removed a monarch,” she
paused, “without having to remove his head...” Her eyes swept the tiered
benches as her pupils laughed, before coming to rest on Jimmy Gates. He winked.

They
held hands as they walked across the campus to their first lecture. They had
become friends during the rehearsals of the play, inseparable in the week of
the performance, and had both lost their virginity together during spring
vacation. When Nat told his lover that he would not be going to Yale, but
joining her at the University of Connecticut, Rebecca felt guilty about how
happy the news made her.

Susan
and Michael Cartwright liked Rebecca the moment they met her, and their
disappointment over Nat not being offered an immediate place at Yale was
softened by seeing their son so relaxed for the first time in his life.

The
opening lecture in Buckley Hall was on the subject of American literature, and
delivered by Professor Hayman. During the summer vacation, Nat and Rebecca had
read all the authors on the assigned list-James, Steinbeck, Hemingway,
Fitzgerald and Bellow-and then discussed in detail Washington Square, The Grapes
of Wrath, For Whom the Bell Tolls, The Great Gatsby, and Herzog.

So
by the time they took their places in the lecture theater that Tuesday morning,
they both felt confident they were well prepared. Within moments of Professor
Hayman delivering his opening salvo, they both realized that they had done
little more than read the texts.

They
had not considered the 81 different influences on the authors that birth,
upbringing, education, religion and mere circumstance had brought to their
work, nor given any thought to the fact that the gift of storytelling was not
bestowed on any particular class, color or creed.

“Take,
for example, Scott Fitzgerald,” continued the professor, in his short story,
“Bernice Bobs Her Hair.”“

Nat
looked up from his notes and saw the back of his head. He felt sick. He stopped
listening to Professor Hayman’s views on Fitzgerald and continued to stare for
some time before the student turned and began talking to his neighbor.

Nat’s
worst fears were confirmed. Ralph Elliot was not only at the same university,
but taking the same course. Almost as if conscious of being stared at, Elliot
suddenly turned around. He didn’t acknowledge Nat, as his attention settled on
Rebecca. Nat glanced across at her, but she was too busy taking notes on Fitzgerald’s
drinking problems during his time in Hollywood to register Elliot’s unsubtle
interest.

Nat
waited until Elliot had left the lecture theater before he collected his books
and rose from his place.

“Who
was that who kept turning around and staring at you?” asked Rebecca, as they
strolled over to the dining hall.

“His
name’s Ralph Elliot,” said Nat.

“We
were both at Tail, and I think he was staring at you, not me.”

“He’s
very good looking,” said Rebecca with a grin.

“He
reminds me a little of Jay Gatsby. Is he the one Mr. Thompson thought would
make a good
Malvolio
?”

“A
natural, I think were
Thomo’s
exact words.”

Over
lunch, Rebecca pressed Nat to tell her more about Elliot, but he said that
there wasn’t that much to tell, and continually tried to change the subject. If
enjoying Rebecca’s company also meant having to be at the same university as
Ralph Elliot, it was something he’d learn to live with.

Elliot
didn’t attend the afternoon lecture on the Spanish influence over the colonies,
and by the time Nat accompanied Rebecca back to her room that evening, he had
almost forgotten the unwelcome presence of his old rival.

The
women’s dorms were on south campus, and Nat’s freshman advisor had warned him
that it was against the regulations for men to be found in residence after
dark.

“Whoever fixed the regulations,” said Nat, as he lay
next to Rebecca on her single bed, “must have thought that students could only
make love in the dark.”
Rebecca laughed as she pulled
her sweater back on.

“Which
means that during the spring semester you won’t have to go back to your room
until after nine o’clock,” she said.

“Perhaps
the regulations will allow me to stay with you after the spring semester,” said
Nat without explanation.

During
his first term, Nat was relieved to discover that he rarely came into contact
with Ralph Elliot. His rival showed no interest in cross-country running,
acting or music, so it came as a surprise when Nat found him chatting to
Rebecca outside the chapel on the last Sunday of the term. Elliot quickly
walked away the moment he saw Nat approaching them.

“What
did he want?” asked Nat defensively.

“Just going over his ideas to improve the student
council.
He’s running as the freshman
representative, and wanted to know if you were thinking of putting your name
forward.”

“No,
I’m not,” said Nat firmly. “I’ve had enough of elections.”

“I
think that’s a pity,” said Rebecca, squeezing Nat’s hand, “because I know a lot
of our class hope you will run.”

“Not
while he’s in the field,” said Nat.

“Why
do you hate him so much?” asked Rebecca.

“Is
it just because he beat you in that silly school election?” Nat stared across
at Elliot and watched him chatting to a group of students- the same insincere
smile, and no doubt the same glib promises.

“Don’t
you think it’s possible that he might have changed?” said Rebecca.

Nat
didn’t bother to reply.

“Right,”
said Jimmy, “the first election you can run for is as freshman representative
on the Yale college council.”

“I
thought I’d skip elections during my first year,” said Fletcher, “and just
concentrate on work.”

“You
can’t risk it,” declared Jimmy-”And why not?” asked Fletcher.

“Because
it’s a statistical fact that whoever gets elected to the college council in his
first year, is almost certain to end up as president three years later.”

“Perhaps
I don’t want to be president of the college council,” said Fletcher with a
grin.

“Perhaps
Marilyn Monroe didn’t want to win an Oscar,” said Jimmy, as he produced a
booklet from his briefcase.

“What’s
that?”

“The freshman yearbook-there’s 1,021 of them.”

“I
see you’ve once again begun the campaign without consulting the candidate.”

“I
had to, because I can’t afford to hang around waiting for you to make up your
mind. I’ve done some research and discovered that you have little or no chance
of even being considered for the college council unless you speak in the
freshman’s debate in the sixth week.”

“Why’s
that?” asked Fletcher.

“Because
it’s the only occasion when all the frosh come together in one room and are
given the chance to listen to any prospective candidate.”

“So
how do you get selected as a speaker?

“Depends
which side of the motion you want to support.”