The Panty Raid (5 page)

“It’s not grades.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s my future.”

“What about it?”

“I...I have to think about it,” Dot said. “I haven’t decided about it.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “We’ve still got seven months before graduation. A lot of us haven’t got our plans worked out yet.”

“It’s more than plans,” she said. “For me... well, it’s different.”

“How so?”

She didn’t know quite where to begin. She turned the question back to him.

“Tell me what you want for your future, Hank?”

He was thoughtful for a moment.

“I’d like to get a good job,” he said. “By good, I mean something that I’d enjoy doing and that would have some purpose to it. I don’t have to make tons of money, but I want enough to get by and build up some savings for a rainy day. Someday I’d like to own a house with a yard and have a couple of kids to grow up there. I want to be healthy, live to old age and have good friends. But more than any of that, or all of it, I want the right woman to share a life. I want a wife who’s smart and funny and serious and impetuous and...well, it sounds like I want you, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t pick up on his suggestion or comment on his declaration.

“I guess I want what everyone wants,” he continued.

Dot nodded. “I don’t know about everybody,” she said. “But that’s what I want, too. Unfortunately, I can’t have it.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how the world works,” she said. “You know that a woman can’t have a career and a family.”

Hank thought about that and nodded. “Sure she can—she must,” he said. “If she doesn’t marry, how will she afford to live? It’s hard enough for a woman to even get offered a job, let alone one that pays more than pin money. She’ll need a husband to pay the bills whether she chooses to work or not.”

“But any chance of being taken seriously at work disappears if she has Mrs. in front of her name,” Dot countered. “Any company will treat a married woman as a temporary employee, because they know that any day she might get...in the family way. If she does, they’ll have to replace her, because you can’t have a woman who’s going to have a baby working in public. And after her baby is born, she’ll have to stay home to take care of it.”

“Children eventually go to school,” he said.

Dot nodded.

“One child goes to school in just six years, but there’s no way to predict how many you’ll have,” she pointed out. “It could be two, it could be twelve. Either way, you’re not in the clear until well into your forties. And nobody hires middle-aged matrons. That’s like a comedy skit.”

Hank could only shrug in agreement.

“That’s what I went in to talk to Dr. Glidden about,” she explained. “I mean, initially I went there to complain about Dr. Falk and not getting appointments with job recruiters. But she made me see that Dr. Falk is not some strange, offbeat aberration that I need to get past in my classwork. He’s the norm out in the world I want to work in. His attitudes are their attitudes.”

“He’s a creep,” Hank said adamantly.

Dot appreciated his sentiment.

“Dr. Glidden explained to me that a woman can’t be like a man. She can’t do whatever she wants. She can have a career or a family, but there is just no plan, no mechanism in society for her to have both.”

There was not any way that Hank could disagree with that and he didn’t try. Instead, he asked the question that Dot had been asking herself.

“Which do you want more? A family or a career?” Dot shook her head. “That’s the problem,” she admitted. “I want them both. I can’t seem to choose. I love kids. I always thought I’d want to be a mom. But I love science, too. And I’m the first person in my family to go to college. Can I just throw that away and say it’s not important to me? That it changes nothing?”

“No, of course not.”

“So, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. And until I do, it’s unfair for me to get involved with someone,” she said. “I don’t know yet if I’m willing to fall in love. I don’t know if I can let someone fall in love with me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hank said, “I think you’re too late.”

T
he main living
room of Baldridge Hall was off-limits to anyone who wasn’t tying bows, hanging lights or cutting the thousands of autumn-colored paper leaves that were the main staple of the theme’s decor. Hank, and the residents under his command, were approaching the festivities of the formal dance with all of the organization and dedication they had put into the panty raid. And Hank was pretty sure that had been exactly what the dean had wanted.

Hank had tried to use everybody’s strengths and interests. The Ag and Forestry majors gathered a full half mile of wild grapevine from every fallow field and woods within miles around campus. Pre-Med, Botany and Biology cleaned it and twisted it into garlands that Math students strung up precisely two feet apart across the width of the room. Each yard had an eighteen-inch drop where a brightly colored leaf, sparkling with glitter, dangled down to create an atmosphere of intimacy. The guys studying Drama and Music were in charge of the bandstand, which had to have a raised dais, lights and a gossamer background of orange, brown, red and gold. The future engineers put together an amazing water feature that was expected to be the “wow factor” of the entire decor.

The whole project as it progressed, was both eye- opening and surprisingly fulfilling. Chemistry majors discovered cooking and athletes had the opportunity to utilize the muscles they’d honed. The fellows in the College of Business were uniquely challenged on how to produce such a lovely occasion within the tiny budget that had been previously collected for pep rally snacks.

Everyone seemed to be gaining from the opportunity. Especially Hank. Hank needed something to fill his hours since Dot had sent him on his way.

He was being dumb, foolish, a knot-head, he told himself. Dot was just a girl—the university was full of girls. If she didn’t know what she wanted, if she wasn’t sure what her future should hold, then Hank should forget her, stop looking for her and move on. There were plenty of fish in the sea, and most of them wanted a bright young man to wed and have a home.

That’s what he told himself, again and again. But that’s not what he’d felt. He had listened to her explanations, her motivations, and he tried to understand. He wasn’t sure he did. Wasn’t marriage and children a biological imperative for females? That’s what everyone thought. Wasn’t the woman uniquely made to fulfill domestic duties?

His mother hadn’t reared him to believe such fallacies, and watching the men of Baldridge Hall step up to the plate so admirably to
women’s work
quashed any lingering doubts he had.

So he knew that she was right, he supposed. But he still didn’t like it. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her, even before they’d met. Now she was at the edge of every thought that went through his mind. She was the one with whom he wanted to share every dream that came into his head.

But it wasn’t to be.

Late at night in the darkness of his dorm room, he’d imagine that she’d have a sudden change of heart. That she’d come running to him, declaring that she didn’t want to live without him. Completely convinced that what she truly longed for was a little house with a white picket fence and a brood of rowdy children. But he couldn’t honestly say, even to himself, that he wanted her to give up her dreams. Her dreams were as much a part of what he loved about her as every other aspect of her person. He didn’t want some woman who just looked like her or talked like her. He wanted her—Dot Wilbur, chock-full of personal hopes and ideals and ambitions.

Sometimes he told himself that in a few years, out working in some impressive science laboratory, she’d realize everything that she imagined for herself—a renowned research, a dozen breakthrough patents, a Nobel Prize. That when it was enough, she’d seek him out, telling him that she’d made her choice and she chose him.

In the stark light of day, however, he knew that once they left campus, headed their separate ways, they would most likely never see each other again. Just the idea of that felt like a nightmare. But Hank wondered if it was more frightening than seeing her every day.

Class was the worst. He’d sit at his desk, his notebook open, his pencil at the ready, intent on writing down every significant word that dropped from Dr. Falk’s lips. Instead, he’d find his attention drifting toward the far right desk in the front of the room, where lips that he’d tasted now pursed in concentration as she stared at the blackboard. He watched her small, delicate hands now clutching her pencil. Those hands had caressed his shoulder blades, rested upon his chest. He had wanted those hands against his skin. He wanted those hands...

The distraction was untenable. How was a guy supposed to concentrate on Organic Chemistry when such beautiful hands were in view?

Deliberately, Hank forced his attention to the floor. But then, along the floor his eyes drifted to the sight of her feet: elegant, tantalizing feet, slim ankles in sensible pumps, the enticing curve of calf, the hem of her skirt. Hank imagined what was beneath that skirt and accidentally broke his pencil in half.

Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it! he admonished himself.

Being in the same room with her but so forcefully separate, he could hardly think of anything else.

When they’d been a twosome, he had been so relaxed, so full of hope and ambition. He had been no stranger to desire. But the edge to it had been less. He’d been waiting, wanting, confident that time would bring that around. He could kiss and hold her, knowing that, in the not so distant future, they could be together sexually as they were romantically. He’d believed it was their future. It was inevitable. And it would be well worth the wait when every feeling was shared and experienced.

Now it seemed that it was never going to happen. He was never going to touch her that way. They would never put their bodies together as one. The loss was devastating.

Dot had been good for his studies. Now, without her, he just felt empty. But it was an emptiness that was more than hollow—it was wrenching with unfulfilled longing.

Hank was jolted back into reality when they were dismissed. He glanced down at his papers and saw that an hour lecture had only produced two sentences for study, and one of them didn’t make sense.

He let go a huff of self-disgust. If he kept this up, by the end of semester, his entire class notes could be written on the head of a pin.

Mutely he filed out, letting Dot get far ahead of him and trying not to pay attention to which way he was headed. A guy from the dorm stopped him and asked to borrow a pen. Hank loaned him one and belatedly realized that his slide rule wasn’t in his pocket. He’d need it for the next class. Annoyed, he backtracked to Dr. Falk’s classroom to retrieve it.

“Ah...Mr. Brantly,” the professor said as he saw him. “I’m glad I caught you.”

Hank didn’t care how amiable the guy tried to be with him. He’d always hold him in low esteem for the way he treated Dot. Still, respect came naturally to him.

“Yes, sir?” he responded politely.

“I wanted to let you know that the recruiter from Universal Research Labs will be here on Thursday and Friday,” he said. “If you’d like to talk with him, I’d be happy to put you on the list.”

“Yeah, great,” he answered immediately.

He was being offered a chance at the brass ring that every guy in his class was reaching for. Lining up the dream job while still on campus was the senior class ambition. Everyone wanted to walk across the graduation stage and straight through the employee’s entrance of a company.

He ignored Falk’s pretense at bestowing such an honor. Hank knew it was no gift. He’d earned his place in the class. The opportunity to meet with company representatives visiting campus was nothing more than he deserved.

It was only later when he wondered if Dot was on the list, if she was going to get a chance to interview. He thought not. He couldn’t imagine Dr. Falk going out of his way for her. When that thought occurred to him, Hank’s eyes narrowed.

Self-important, closed-minded Neanderthal,
he said to himself. He wished he could kick the creep’s white- coat-covered backside all over campus. Of course, he could not.

But he could help Dot. If no one else at the university was going to lift a finger for her, Hank decided he must do it himself.

Spiffed up in his brown suit, white shirt and gray-and- brown striped necktie with the yellow dots down the center, he was fashionable but not flashy. He made his way to the third floor of the Student Union where the interviews were being held. There were three other guys waiting, each as overdressed for campus life as Hank was himself.

The talk as they waited was inconsequential and everyday. The weather. Football scores. The swell lines of the new Lincoln Continental. Nothing of any importance or any pertinence to their future was said. But Hank knew it was what was on everyone’s mind.

One of the other fellows he didn’t know, someone he’d seen around on campus, and one had been in a class with Hank the previous semester. The fellow with whom he was familiar was, to Hank’s mind, no great prize. So, he wasn’t in particularly good company. And the fact that apparently that guy was chosen over Dot really had him steaming. He’d never really thought about how unfair things were, that a half-wit jerk got more breaks than the smartest girl in school. But he was thinking about it now and it made him mad. Not just for Dot, but for all the girls. Even for his mother. He’d always known how hard his mom worked for so little. Now he saw more clearly what she’d been up against every day of her life.

By the time it was his turn to talk to the recruiter, he’d forgotten completely about getting hired and walked in with a chip on his shoulder as big as the university clock tower.

What the man, Clifford Wojciechowski, might have wanted to ask him, Hank never knew. Hank was the guy with the questions and he wanted answers.

“How do you choose your employees?” Hank shot off first. “Based on their clothes or their ability at the track?” The recruiter was momentarily startled.

“We try to find the best academic prospects who—” “The
best?”
Hank interrupted. “Are you aware that one of the top students in our class, perhaps the best mind in the whole university, has been shut out of these interviews?”

The man seemed genuinely startled.

“No, I wasn’t aware of that,” he said.

“Someone I think might be a very valuable asset to your company has been unfairly left off your interview list.”

Mr. Wojciechowski’s brow furrowed. “Our policy has been to rely on experienced academicians for recommendations,” he said.

“Well, that policy,” Hank insisted, “does not necessarily present you with the most qualified or suitable candidates. Certain professors can be guilty of favoritism and prejudice.”

The man nodded. “That is true,” he said. “Partiality can undo all the most productive efforts. You run into that type in every line of work. Who do you think we’ve missed? I’ll make a personal effort to speak with him myself.”

The recruiter had his pen poised above the paper, ready, eager to write down the name.

“Dorothy Wilbur.”

The movement of the pen hesitated, and Wojcie- chowski quit writing. He smiled at Hank.

“Girlfriend?” he asked.

There was a part of Hank that wanted to answer affirmatively and with pride. But it wasn’t wholly true and it wasn’t what would help Dot.

“No,” he said. “She’s a really smart, hardworking student who wants a career. Professor Falk disapproves of that and won’t give her a chance.”

The recruiter eyed Hank thoughtfully.

“This woman has a gift for science,” Hank continued. “She ought to be allowed to use it.”

The man shrugged. “Women do use their talents,” he said with a wry grin. “Cooking is chemistry. Washing is physics. And having children, that’s multiplication.”

Hank wasn’t amused. He shook his head.

“I’ve heard all the arguments,” he said. “They don’t add up. As a citizen, she’s got a right to the pursuit of happiness. Maybe a career won’t make her happy, but she’s capable and qualified. Denying her even a chance, well...well, that’s not why I got shot at in Korea.”

Mr. Wojciechowski straightened slightly and glanced down at the papers in front of him.

“I didn’t realize you were a combat veteran.”

Hank shrugged. “I was just a draftee,” he said.

“Me, too,” the guy answered. “In the big one. D-Day plus two,” he said, indicating he’d landed on Normandy beach during the third day of assault.

Hank whistled appreciably. “Glad to see you here,” he said.

They both laughed, grimly, as if there were some strange dark humor to survival. Then they quieted, thoughtful.

“Okay,” Wojciechowski said, handing Hank his card. “I’ll see your Dorothy Wilbur. I can’t promise anything. Even if I like her and recommend her, it probably won’t go anywhere. But I’ll talk to her.”

“It’s a step in the right direction,” Hank said.

Outside a few moments later, Hank was nearly gliding on air as he hurried over to Compton. He left the man’s card and directions to the interview room for Dot at the dorm’s desk. He didn’t want her to see him, to thank him. He just wanted her to have her chance.

It was only afterward, making his way back to Baldridge that his emotions began to well up in him. He loved Dot. He wanted her with him. But he was helping her get away.

What else could he do? he thought. When you love someone you have to want what they want. Even when it breaks your heart.