Chapter 1
"Mrs. Hart, what was it like when this was an all boys'
school--with only guys living here at Warrior Hall?" (Our college
took on a Native American theme in the days before it was p. c. not to do so.)
"Well--," I answered, recalling to myself that brief period
when there'd been a flurry of excitement in our boarding house.
"I mean, what did everyone DO? I've heard that students
in the fifties were so apathetic."
Danielle, the bright-eyed student who asked me this on a
recent wintry evening, sat with me in the living room of the
campus boarding home where I've been a house-mother, it seems,
almost as long as the college has been in existence; at least
I've been told that's what the students say.
I chuckled and assured her that while some recent chroniclers
of history have described young college men of the 1950's as
perhaps apathetic about politics, few students attending Cheyenne
College, in the midwestern town of Indian Falls, were indifferent
about a certain blonde screen star known as Kerry Nola. As
movies were a favorite off-campus diversion, they were well
acquainted with her pictures.
At this my young coed turned to one of her friends sitting
on the stone hearth of the fireplace and said "Remember her,
Ginger? We saw her on the late TV movie last week--Kerry Nola."
She turned back to me. "She was really beautiful--I've seen
a lot of her movies. I wonder why you never hear about her any
more. What do you know about her, Mrs. Hart?"
"Quite a bit as it turns out," I answered.
"Tell us ," from Ginger, hugging her knees.
I picked up my crocheting and settled back on the sofa.
"This is Tom's story too, you know--"
Who's Tom?" asked a puzzled Danielle.
"I'll get to that, but let me fill you in about Kerry
first."
"You mean you actually knew her?" asked Ginger.
"MMMhmmmm," I nodded, finally beginning my story.
The girls seemed so absorbed as I told my tale into the
evening that they only stopped me long enough to put new logs
on the fire or to get popcorn from the kitchen. As I spoke,
a few other students drifted in to join us.
Because of this, I decided I'd better write the story down
while it's still fresh in my mind. Perhaps others have
wondered about Kerry every now and then.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 2
Kerry was not your petite blonde; tall and fluid would
be a better description. She carried herself well with just the
right amount of weight to fill out the pencil-slim, tailored
suits worn before hemlines rose and such suits were abandoned for
a number of years.
And if it is true that Kerry's golden halo was poured from
a bottle somewhere on the table of a Hollywood stylist, and that
her glow came from a make-up artist, the result was worthy of
Tintoretto or any other master of tube and brush.
One particular male engineering student, Tom Archer, came
from a small Texas ranch community and lived at my boarding
house. While less vociferous than most in his admiration of Miss
Nola, and categorically scorned, (as most engineering students
were apt to be by the liberal arts majors) as having little
imagination, in fact it turned out that he had a very active
interior fantasy life where she was concerned.
As you may know, calculators then were not the slim,
pocket-case items they are now, but when at work, large,
pulsating bodies found only in math and engineering
departments of colleges and industries. And when these were
not in operation, engineering students sat around and talked
about sports and women, just as much as the Business
Administration or P. E. majors did.
"Ya know what, Tom--I think a girl has the attributes
of one of these computing machines when you're close to
her . . .," began Ken Mayer, sometimes known as the joker of the
engineering building.
"You mean because they're so noisy?" asked one of the
young men in Tom's lab group who had stayed after class with them
to work over some problems that spring afternoon in the late
fifties.
Ken shook his head and wrapped his big arms around the
gray machine in front of him and answered, "Nah--you know,
warm, friendly, throbbing, maybe a little softer though--"
Tom didn't say much, as was his usual way; just grinned.
But he thought about the analogy. So far his experience with
girls had been fairly limited due to his attendance at
all-male schools and because his outside time had been spent
working to save the money to come to Cheyenne, noted for
its good engineering course. But somehow the woman of his
dreams looked nothing like a steel machine and very unlike
the girls he had met at "mixers" with nearby girls' schools.
The latter either giggled and acted very silly in little groups
or were so intense about every subject that he lost interest in
following their conversations.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 3
A few days later, Tom noticed a small group gathered around
a large poster in the student union building.
As he came closer, he recognized a very familiar picture at
the bottom, right-hand corner of the sign. A message blared
out in broad blue letters:
WIN A DATE TO THE SPRING FLING WITH HOLLYWOOD STAR!
The picture was a still from one of Kerry Nola's most
recent and popular films, the one where she appeared in a
simple peasant blouse and skirt and never really had seemed
to say much; but Tom knew that whatever she had said had been
neither silly nor over-intense. At the same time, an
intensity and heightened reality had emanated from her whole
being and through which she had seemed to speak directly to Tom
himself without needing words to do so.
Tom looked more carefully at the poster. The details of
the offer were simple. The College Drama Club was raising
money to build a new theater building, with a promise by
the alumni to match double any funds raised, so the raffle ticket
price was not cheap. But tickets were already quickly selling at
a table by the poster.
Tom stared at the picture for a few minutes and then
laughed to himself. Point Number One - he couldn't really
relate the "someone" who belonged to the dream world in his head
to a flesh and blood person who might actually be coming to
the campus. Point Number Two - he hardly had the price of a
ticket, seeing as he skipped lunch most days. And, Point
Number Three - he couldn't even dance.
After that careful analysis, he began to walk away. But
then, a quick parting glance at the photo halted his steps and
led him to begin earnestly looking through his pockets for such
change as he could dig up.
He didn't find much but he spotted Ken ahead of him
happily waving a sausage-string of tickets.
"Tom--old grub, I've got myself a sure thing."
Tom laughed. He dealt in statistics in his class work
and knew the odds of winning in an all-male college with a
population of 8,000 and with some of the student body members
wealthy enough to buy hordes of tickets.
"Listen," said Ken, "I'm feeling so lucky I'll give you
one of my tickets." And so saying, he tore off one of the
orange cardboard sausages and handed it to Tom.
Tom answered, "Hey, who wants a ticket to a dance with
some publicity-crazy movie star? But just so y'all don't
feel bad, I'll keep it." He put it in his shirt pocket and
said, "I thought you and Suzie would be going to the spring
dance together."
"She'll understand," said Ken. "If I win, you can
escort her while I take care of Miss Hollywood."
Somehow, Tom couldn"t see Suzie going for all this,
especially with himself as second fiddle; a reputation as
the proverbial lady-killer, he had not.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 4
I sensed the excitement in the air the next few days
just by the conversation at the long oak table in our dining
room and by the frantic bartering for extra tickets that was
always going on.
I especially remember Tom goading some of the other boys:
"You mean you guys are really that taken over some
Hollywood publicity stunt? What are you, a bunch of sheep?"
"Yeah," answered one, "Just show us a picture of Kerry
Nola and we'll bleat."
A chorus of Bah, Bah, Bah soon broke up all conversation
for that meal.
Not until a few years later, when Tom told me the story,
did I know but that very morning while shaving, he'd cast
one brown eye at the ticket he had taped to the bathroom
mirror and admitted to himself that he was glad that our
boarding-house had separate bathrooms so he could escape the
inevitable teasing that would accompany the sight of this
particular raffle ticket. He had memorized the number on the
ticket almost immediately. Now it had formed an ever-present
tune in his head: "Number 4015 - K.N. seems almost alive."
One afternoon Tom headed for a drugstore away from the
campus and nonchalantly purchased a magazine of the type
more often bought by hysterical teenaged girls or beauty salon
proprietors for their patrons to read while under the dryers,
commonly known in those days as "movie magazines."
Tom stuck the magazine in his briefcase and headed home
with it. Some work was then done with scissors and masking
tape and a full-page picture of Kerry Nola soon graced the
bathroom mirror next to the orange ticket, leaving only
enough room for Tom to see his chin when shaving.
In an afternoon lab session that week one subject
predominated:
"She's arriving by private train car next Friday,"
blurted out the usually taciturn George Snyder.
"Ah," said Tony Maggone, "the signorina with-a the bella
figura is coming to take me away from it all."
"Hey," said Ken, "we'd better get on with these-a
figuras or we ain't-a gonna maka da deadline and the dean
will send us away from it all."
"Yeah," added Tom, "you guys sure let the thought of
some dizzy blonde throw you off the track."
Meanwhile, the now-familiar tune was beating its way into
his head superimposing itself over the equation he was trying
to balance.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 5
At that moment, K. N. herself was very much alive in the
city of Chicago, being interviewed on radio shows, posing for
publicity shots and dining and dancing with the studio
publicity agent, Mark Goodwin. Few who observed her poised,
lively, professional exterior were aware that she had spent
her brunette days in a dusty California steel mill town
as Karen Nowalski. She had barely begun to study at a local
community college known for its theater arts department when
she was lured to Hollywood due to notice of her outstanding
performance in a one-act play contest.
"Mark, you do dance well," Kerry whispered as they
shuffled to the music in a softly-lit night club which
crowned a Chicago lake shore skyscraper. "Mmmm, let's extend
this part of the trip and forget the college dance. Who knows
how many times my poor feet will be trod upon?"
"Baby, YOU dance well," Mark whispered back into her
ear. "All the more reason to make that dance. It has big
publicity value for us. You'll just have to wear metal
safety tips in your shoes like those steel workers in your
home town do."
"You are so romantic, Mark. I just thought you might be
worried about valuable studio property. But don't worry about
me. I can handle myself. In fact, maybe some collegiate,
crew-cut type is waiting to take me away from all this glamour
and back to academia from whence I began," Kerry added as they
lined up single-file for the dah-da dah-da dah-da DAH DAH DAH of
the lively Bunny-Hop, beginning on the small dance floor.
After, as they sat over drinks, Mark looked at Kerry.
"You know," he began, "that's a pretty good idea. We could
get a reporter from a "fan mag" to follow up on it. I can
see the title: 'COLLEGE BOY FLIPS OVER SCREEN STAR. Follows
Her To NY; Threatens Suicide If She Doesn't Marry Him!'"
Kerry laughed, "Oh Mark, don't be so ridiculous."
"Ridiculous? I'm creative. I'm thinking every minute
where you're concerned; of course there is the slight matter
of being paid to do so.
"Seriously," he said, "I'll bet you couldn't get one of
those students to really fall for you."
The slight, but sudden, dilation of Kerry's delicate
nostrils showed Mark that she had risen to the bait as he had
calculated that she would."
"What are you talking about, Mark? Do you realize how
many love letters and proposals I receive each week?"
He put his arm around her. "Oh, I don't mean infatuation
with how they think you are. I mean for real."
"What do you mean? How they think I am--"
"Kerry, you have never been known to underestimate
your acting ability. To everyone who watches you out there,
you are every role you've ever been. What I want to say is:
each guy, at least, really believes he knows you, from
whatever role he identified you with, and whisked you from the
screen straight into his dreams."
Kerry pulled away from him and looked into his eyes.
"Then that proves it wouldn't be hard to get one of them to
fall for me."
"Ah, but what if you don't know who you are and portray the
wrong heroine to the wrong guy?"
"Do you know who I am?"
"Maybe," Mark took her hand. "Do you?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to take you up on this.
You've challenged me."
Mark laughed. "Fine. We'll both win. Built-in publicity
for me to work with and a journey into your soul for you." He
pulled her up, "Come on, let's dance this last number. We have a
busy day tomorrow."
Kerry was glad to be back in Mark's arms, but one nagging
thought bothered her while they danced. Winners indicate a loser
somewhere. What about the unknown target of their arrangement?
How did he fit in? But before the thought was fully formulated in
her consciousness, the effect of the warm Irish Coffee and the
dusky throb of the music drove out any thinking at all. Instead
she found herself leaning against Mark and following his strong
lead around the small dance floor.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 6
On Friday morning they slipped into the Indian Falls
railway station very early. The college press relations
officer, Mike Cooney, was there to greet them and to drive them
to their hotel where the dance was also to be held.
The car with the photographers and Kerry's personal
hairdresser, Mattie, followed. During the short ride, as Cooney
filled them in on details of what was to come, Kerry noticed that
they were moving along a street banked by wide green lawns
connected to large houses embraced by old-fashioned porches.
Thoughts of a sun-dappled Renoir painting she had seen somewhere
flitted into Kerry's mind as she viewed the early morning scene.
Almost fully-leafed trees were forming a spring-green parasol
over their heads as they drove along in Cooney's open
convertible. This midwest was hardly stark and barren as Mark had
led her to believe it would be, but was more in tune with her
childhood visions from books she had read.
About an hour later Tom Archer found himself part of a
huge, cheering stockyard-herd gathered on the college
quadrangle for the outdoor welcoming ceremonies. As Kerry Nola
stepped up to the platform erected for the occasion, her
glittering smile seemed to take in every young man standing
there. Many of those clutched already threadbare tickets
even more tightly, although some bravado at showing
nonchalance was affected. By and far, from what I observed
when I looked around was that lots of the young men were
one-eyed because so many held a camera up to their other eye and
they were as busy as the assembled official photographers. Cries
of "Look over here, Kerry--This way, Miss Nola---Honey, smile--,"
and even, "Say cheesecake," were heard.
Although I'm somewhat of a critical person, even I had
to admit that Kerry Nola looked good up there. I had read
somewhere that she was only 20, but she seemed much more
sophisticated than that. She was dressed simply in then-
popular toreador pants and a white turtleneck blouse. She
wore her hair up in one of those french twists. Her husky
laugh and slinky way of moving caused one young lad near me
to bite into the styrofoam cup from which he had been
drinking and begin chewing the torn piece without even
realizing it.
I spotted Tom in the back of the crowd. He sat against
a huge rock and watched as Kerry was finally invited to pull
the winning ticket from a large revolving cage. Little did I
know then, but his leisurely position belied limp shaking
knees; he was actually using the rock for support.
By this time the whistles and catcalls made it
impossible for anything to be heard over the loudspeaker.
More than one young "wrangler" waved his ticket and shouted, "Hey
Kerry, draw my number" or "Baby, remember me!" until finally
the range manager in charge of preventing stampedes,
Drama Club president, Joe Scott, had to yell for quiet and
remind the students that they were gentlemen after all.
When things had quieted down, he turned to Kerry: "Miss
Nola, someone has the companion number for whatever ticket
you draw from this tumbler." He turned it energetically and
then beckoned her over. She smiled at him and put her
graceful hand into the tumbler after he had opened it for
her. She stretched the moment out by giving the crowd her
best ingenue look, winked, and drew out the first ticket her
slender fingers touched. She glanced at it and then handed it
to Joe. He looked at it and stepped back up to the
microphone (after bringing a laugh to the crowd by checking
his own ticket and tearing it up) and called out to the now
breathless assembly, "Number 4014, Number 4014."
One squeeze by Tom and the ticket in his hand, already
limp from many steamy mornings, all but disintegrated;
likewise, his dream.
Standing next to Tom, Ken Mayer looked at the tickets
clutched in his hand, gasped, looked at them again and then
tore off the last ticket, letting the other ones drop to the
ground, and rushed up to the platform.
"Me, me--" he shouted as he ran along. Upon arrival, he
unabashedly grabbed Kerry and kissed her to the background of
more whistles and flashbulbs.
Although she was slightly taller than he was, she was very
light. So, as many heavyset, strong men are able to do, he
set her down gently. She rolled her eyes at the crowd and
laughed. She tried to catch Mark's expression at the same
time but he was talking with Cooney. It was being announced
over the loudspeaker that Ken Mayer and Miss Nola would be
attending the Spring Fling the next evening and that everyone
was invited to bring a date and come along. As Ken went down
the platform steps, he turned back to her, "Tomorrow night my
lady, we dance--be prepared to wear out your dancin' shoes!"
Kerry thought to herself that he might be a pretty fair
dancer in spite of not looking like a Fred Astaire and
discovered that she was looking forward to the event.
Amidst all the clamor, no one, especially not Ken,
noticed the short brunette girl with a few of her friends
from the school across the lake quietly observing the scene
at the back of the crowd.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 7
That night Cooney took Mark and Kerry to a local pizza
parlor, warm with pungent Italian kitchen aromas, lively music,
noisy customers and friendly help. Kerry was mobbed by
students wanting her autograph on their menus. This kept her
so busy that it was closing time and she still hadn't eaten
much pizza. Cooney and Mark had been happily drinking their beer
and filling themselves with the stringy repast so they had some
feeling for her plight. Cooney went over to talk to the manager.
When he came back, he said, "I have to leave but he says they
have some cleaning to do around here and for you two to stay put
until Kerry has had enough to eat. The treat is on him."
Kerry smiled over at the manager who waved and went back to
counting out at his cash register.
The room was suddenly quiet after the students left and
the juke box was no longer emitting the latest tunes or the
college fight song over and over.
Mark lit a cigarette, leaned back against the wall and
stretched his grey flannel-clad legs out along the seat on his
side of the leather booth as Kerry eagerly began putting away her
pizza.
"You're attacking that pizza like that ticket-winner
attacked you today on the auction block," Mark said. said.
Kerry looked up. "Did you care?"
"Care?" Mark laughed. "Care-Care-Kerry; you are our prize
filly. That's the reaction we want. Hey, want to dance? Real
dancing I mean. Who knows what dancing with that bear will be
like tomorrow night?" He walked over to the jukebox.
The tune he selected was a song that had grown popular
since they had begun their trip, "Every Now and Then Won't You
Try and Remember Me?" It was the first time Kerry had heard it
and as she listened to the lyrics she couldn't imagine Mark ever
saying words like that. Although he spent time with her on
trips, so far it had all been for publicity purposes.
But this was here and now and dancing with Mark, whose
cashmered-sweatered warmth felt good as he whirled her about the
empty room, took her mind off the fact that instead of saying
whether he cared or not, he had referred to her as a thoroughbred
up for sale.
"Looks like the "bear" is already in love with me," she
teased him.
He looked her in the eye. That doesn't count for love,
babe. That's a given where you're concerned. It has to be the
real thing."
"Don't worry, I can do it," she answered, though she wasn't
sure how much her heart was really in it, feeling as close to
Mark as she did at the moment.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 8
The next morning Tom looked wistfully at the sticky outline
left when he had pulled the ticket from his mirror.
One number off. Luck of the draw. It looked as if he
would be Suzie's escort after all. But he still wasn't as
confident as Ken as to what Suzie would think of all this.
Anyway, he knew where Kerry Nola would be all evening. He had formed a
routine of kissing her picture for luck. With the contest over,
he did it merely by habit as he left the room.
He glanced out the hall window and spotted Ken with Suzie
at his side. He went down to the small parlor of our boarding
house to meet them. The expression on Kenny's big face appeared
as close to sheepish as it ever could. He held Suzie's small
hand in his great paw and looked down at her.
"You tell him,"
Suzie plunged right in. "Tom, I saw that girl in person
yesterday." Then, looking directly at Ken, "And that kiss! I
guess I'm not a big enough person to let Ken go to the dance with
her. I would eat my heart out all night and never speak to Kenny
again. He has a life to lead after she leaves. There, I said it.
Tom, you are going to be her escort." And with that she suddenly
burst into tears. Ken put his arm around her.
Tom's knees were starting to shake, big-time. He'd better
say something quickly. Words he knew he didn't mean tumbled out:
"Me? Take that movie star door prize? Are y'all kidding?
I'll have every guy on this campus on my neck if they find out
you're not taking her."
"No problem" said Ken. "It's all worked out with the Drama
Club. It's too late to have another raffle. We'll go as a
foursome and no one will know the difference. They'll tell her
this afternoon and then I'll be posing for some pictures with
her. But you'll have to dance all but the first and last dance
with her. Poor lamb," he began, but one look at Suzie and he cut
it short."
The old tune had forced its way back. K. N. was rising
like a phoenix. Amid the clatter in Tom's head, he found himself
saying, "One slight problem, people, I can't dance."
Suzie's sobs had subsided and now she looked at him
brightly. "Oh, that's no problem; we're going to teach you."
"Yeah," added Ken. "It's very scientific, like
engineering. You figure out the pattern and go from there."
"Anyway, I don't even have the right kind of suit," Tom
said. But even as he said the words, the old tune had reached a
jubilant crescendo, and his brain reeled with the crashing of
cymbals and other tympanic accompaniment.
"Too bad old man," replied Ken. We'll rent you one." He
and Suzie eagerly crossed over to the record player, found some
dance records, and painstakingly and methodically began to teach
Tom to dance. He caught onto the basics but was glad when the
other two would forget themselves and begin exhibiting their own
expertise at rhumbas, sambas or rock and roll numbers when they
particularly liked a tune.
To Tom's relief, they finally quit in order to get to the
busy tuxedo rental shop for measurements and fitting.
Ken's suit was ready and as he tried it on in the fitting
room he called out to Tom, " Listen guy, this is my fault so I'll
pay for half of the suit rental. Can you swing the rest?"
"Yeah, it's OK," answered Tom. "Thanks." Actually, he had
stopped worrying about money he didn't have. He would just have
to skip all lunches for awhile. Luckily his other meals were
prepaid for the semester.
And now, instead of his usual careful thought, something
else began crowding his mind. . . the sight of Ken kissing Kerry
the day before took up all available space. If only he could ask
Ken what it had been like. Nyah, he couldn't.
He realized then that Ken was still talking to him.
". . . and about the flowers. I'm officially her escort so
I'll pay for them. But I'll add your name."
"Flowers--oh yeah, great," said Tom. Flowers, he thought.
Truly Kerry belonged in a field of wild flowers like the
Bluebonnets found in the pastures at home every spring.
Ken came out of the fitting room. "Okay, as soon as you're
through here we've got to get over to the florist's.
We're lucky they worked you in here this afternoon."
The florist's, he thought. One of those flowershops with
refrigerated floral specimens. Again he thought of a sea of
wildflowers. And as they walked along the main street a few minutes later, his
dream of kissing Kerry amid the Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrush burst when they
entered the shop with its almost too-perfect arrangements of plants grown
in hothouses, yet preserved on ice, only to be worn and enjoyed a few hours at the most.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 9
At this point, Kerry herself was sitting under a hairdryer
in the hotel beauty shop and thumbing through a magazine. She
heard a tapping on the hood of the dryer, lifted it up, saw that
it was Mark and motioned to Mattie, her hairdresser, who turned
off the dryer for her.
"Phew, these places stink," Mark said, sitting down in the
chair next to her.
"Kerry, it looks as though there has been a change in plans.
Seems like your escort for tonight, isn't."
"How's that?"
"It seems like he received opposition from some girlfriend."
"Good for her," Kerry giggled.
Mark went on, "At any rate, it's too late for another
drawing so his buddy will be your unofficial date, but as far as
the publicity goes, this Ken is still your escort. Got that?"
"Why couldn't it just have been you, Mark?"
"Me? Are you kidding, baby doll? I've got a million
reporters and writers to oversee. This will be in every fan
magazine in the country."
"You mean I won't be dancing with you at all," Kerry pouted
playfully.
Mark looked uncomfortable. "What's the big deal, babe? Time
to get serious. This is business."
"OK, Mark," she said. "Oh, what's his name?"
"Who?"
"The replacement." Mark pulled a small tablet from his
pocket. "Tom Archer. Maybe he's Cupid in disguise--get it?"
"Do I want to get--hey, maybe he's--remember our bet?"
"Oh yeah. Well, there's not much time. Just tonight and
Sunday. We leave on Monday for my town, The Big Apple. If I lose
the bet, I'll treat you to dinner at the Stork Club--
myself--no expense account."
Kerry looked up at him. This was interesting. All of
their meals had been paid for by the studio so far. They'd
never had an actual date. That was what drove her crazy. She
knew Mark's dark good looks assured him of girlfriends on both
coasts.
Mark was holding his nose. "I've got to get out of this
place. By the way, since the dance is in the hotel ballroom,
your escort will be coming early with this other gal. We'll meet
in the hotel lobby. We've got to get a lot of picture taking in
before the crowds arrive. Dinner will be a midnight supper."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 10
In the late afternoon of that same day, Tom finished
shaving, kissed Kerry's picture and sang aloud, "Number 4015, you
are almost alive. Yaahooo!"
He donned the rental tux and after some fussing with the
tie, sat trying to read in the parlor while waiting for Ken and
Suzie to come by and pick him up. He told me later that when he'd
heard Ken's horn he had tried to escape without me seeing him but
hadn't made it.
"Why Tom," I remember saying. "I never saw you look so
nice. Here, let me straighten that tie." And he did look good
with his well-brushed crew cut and charming smile. I think I was
always partial to Tom because of some slight resemblance to my
own husband who'd died so young during the Korean War.
"Oh, it's OK," he muttered but knew he had to bend down
from his considerable height to my fussing.
I knew I'd at least calmed any fears he might have had as
to whether he was passable in his monkey suit or not.
It was a pretty good fit, although his wrists showed some
and I had a feeling that might have bothered him a bit.
Ken looked at ease dressed up and Suzie looked not exactly
glamorous, but fetching, in her long dress. She wore a huge
orchid at her shoulder.
As they drove along, Ken gave Tom his flowers. "Put on your
boutonniere now, but we'd better keep hers in the box till we get
there. I'll probably have to pin it on her in front of the
photographers--sorry, Suzie."
Tom held the box with its flower much like Suzie's.
Again, its chilled perfection (he couldn't help being
reminded of Snow White in her glass box) made him wish that they
could have picked out the wrist corsage of small dainty flowers,
but Ken had been given orders to bring something large and showy
that would photograph well. And who knew, that's probably what
Kerry Nola expected.
When they had parked and walked into the lobby, they spotted
Joe Scott waiting for them with his date; and beside them, Mr.
Cooney and a dark-haired young man in a well-fitting, custom-made
tuxedo to whom they were introduced. He didn't look much older
than they did, but after a short conversation, they could tell
that he had seen a world of experience far different than theirs.
He winked at Suzie and then looked at Ken and Tom.
"Miss Nola will be down in a moment."
A long moment, but Tom made it. As he was gazing around the
lobby during the ensuing talk, he looked not for the first time
over at the main entrance to the lobby from the rest of the
hotel. His quivering knees announced that there, unmistakably,
was Number 4015. Very alive.
As Kerry came forward, Suzie drew in her breath. She almost
pulled her hand away from Ken's but instead clutched it tighter.
It wasn't fair. No woman should look like that. "That" meaning a
blond apparition wearing a velvet gown of the most delicate shade
of blue-violet instead of the heavy winter purple usually
associated with that fabric. No heavy make-up was in view as
Suzie had expected of a movie star, but instead, the most subtle
of blue-violet shading about her eyes was crowned by delicately
feathered eyebrows and lashes. Her lips were no color and all
color at the same time. Suzie couldn't stand it any more.
She looked away only to find that Joe's date, Barbara
(actually an attractive, lively redhead), was experiencing the
same reaction. They exchanged glances, laughed at themselves,
and turned back.
Introductions were being made. The young publicity man,
Mark, was casual, but Kerry Nola looked warmly on each one of
them as they were presented to her so it took a few minutes to go
around the circle. When his turn came, Tom felt light- headed.
Where was reality? But he didn't have much time to worry about
it. She had barely offered him her hand before Mark began waving
over the large group of photographers hovering about their group.
Ken and Kerry were then kept so busy that Tom and Suzie
found themselves at loose ends. They could hear that the
orchestra brought in from Chicago was only beginning to tune up
so they wandered around the ornate hotel. They window-shopped
awhile in the exclusive little shops found off the lobby and then
admired the patio with its pool and the large ballroom.
At last the ballroom began to fill with students and their
dates and the musicians sounded like they were in full swing.
"Hey Tom," shouted over one of the guys in Tom's Advanced
Calculus class. "Do you think Ken is going to share that dish
with any of us?"
Tom looked at Suzie, who was silently gritting her teeth,
and called back. "He won't have a chance once I muscle in."
"Thanks, Tom," said Suzie. "Come on, let's go find them."
It was easy to find Ken and Kerry. They were dancing, but
at the same time they were surrounded by a ring of photographers
taking shots of their every move. Suzie and Tom both waved
furiously at Ken to grab his attention. He finally spotted them
and pointed over to the giant punch bowls, so they walked over
there to wait.
Having been a chaperone at many dances, I can tell you that
the punchbowls were famous in the community. Not so much for what
was supposed to be in them, but for what wound up in them by the
time a school dance was over; sometimes a student or two. Try
as we may, we chaperones couldn't be everywhere at once so by
this time they were already being inconspicuously flavored.
While they were waiting, Tom offered Suzie some punch and
though he usually drank nothing stronger than a beer now and then
on a hot Texas day, he took a little punch himself. He soon felt
light-headed again and this time Kerry was nowhere in sight.
But in a minute or two she was. She and Ken came forward.
Miraculously the photographers were ignoring them.
Tom noted that most of them had also discovered the punch
bowls.
"MMM." said Kerry, looking at Suzie's drink. "Could someone
get me some of that punch? I'm really thirsty."
Ken and Tom almost bumped heads turning toward the crowded
punch bowls. Ken realized what they were doing, laughed, then
bowed to Tom with a wave toward the punch and turned back to
Suzie and Kerry. Kerry of course was being stared at or spoken
to by everyone who walked or danced by but she seemed to be
taking it in her stride, now and then catching someone's eye and
smiling.
When Tom returned with the punch, she squeezed his hand and
thanked him.
"Listen," Ken told Tom. "It's lucky for you that this is a
date affair or you'd be fighting a stag line all night. Don't be
surprised if a lot of guys talk their dates into trading dances
with you though. And that's what we'd better do now."
A happy Suzie followed Ken as he pulled her along behind him
to the dance floor.
Kerry realized that she was being hesitantly nudged in the
same direction. She smiled brightly at Tom and grabbed his hand
and guided him along. She knew that at the rate he was going the
dance would soon be over.
When Tom realized that it was a slow number a grin of relief
spread across his face. This disarmed Kerry. Up until that
moment his serious countenance had told her little about him.
But now the smile on his face was to her like one of those low,
late afternoon streaks of brilliant sunshine that appear after
the clouds of a rainy day.
They danced. I cannot say that Tom was another Gene Kelly,
but Kerry's abilities as an actress served her in good stead as
usual and Tom almost believed he was leading her.
I've never been to a college dance before," she said.
Tom didn't answer right away. He knew he couldn't just keep
staring at her as they danced, which was what he wanted to do;
yet small talk was not natural to him. Mostly he knew he just
wanted to feel her nearness and delight in the gentle drift of
her perfume and not talk at all.
Finally he said. "Nor have I."
By this time Kerry was into her own personal musing and
looked at him quizzedly. "Pardon me?" she asked.
"It's my first college dance, too," he said.
She smiled. "Oh, I see. Uh, oh,--here come the troops."
The photographers had returned, refreshed from their
break.
"Kerry, give the kid a hug."
"Turn this way. I want to get the reflection on your face
from the light of the chandelier."
And suddenly their dance was a farce. They were wooden
puppets stiffly performing a ritual.
At this point the tempo of the music changed quickly.
Before Tom could panic about not being able to fast dance, he
felt a nudge.
Joe Scott was cutting in.
"Excuse me, Tom. I've got to talk to Miss Nola about a few
announcements we're going to make later on. OK?"
It wasn't OK, but there wasn't much Tom could do about it.
He noticed Joe's date dancing with Mark Goodwin so he decided to
head back to the refreshment area. His mouth felt very dry.
Tom stood munching on a cookie and sipping his drink,
watching Kerry dance for awhile. Now was his chance to stare at
her, unnoticed. But, unexpectedly, he found it bothered him to
have to watch her with so many people milling about her. And,
for someone who had never cared if he learned to dance or not,
suddenly, dancing with her was the only thing that he wanted to
do.
He fortified himself with one more glass of punch and when
the next slow number came he headed for the dance floor and cut
back in on her. By now she was dancing with a student he didn't
recognize.
"Thanks, Tom said.
This time, wonder of wonders, the photographers were nowhere
in sight and when Kerry began speaking to him, the tone of her
voice was somehow very familiar to him. But how could she sound
as familiar as someone in his own family when he had only met her
an hour ago? Then he realized, her startling familiarity was
due to the films in which he'd seen her.
More surprisingly, by contrast, the feel of her was new to
him; she was not really the same as his fantasy partner. K. N.
was fading. Who was this taking her place?
He wasn't able to pursue the answer to this question. As
the number ended, Mark, Ken, and Suzie were working their way
toward them.
"Excuse us, Tom. I've got to steal Kerry away for some
shots with Ken around the pool," said Mark.
Kerry put her hand on Tom's shoulder a moment and then went
along with Mark and Ken and a small crowd that followed them.
Tom walked with Suzie to some outdoor patio chairs where
they could watch the activity and then left her for a moment to
get some more punch and cookies.
By this time the punch was very little punch and a lot of
flavor. Suzie made a face after only a few sips, but Tom downed
his easily, then went back for more.
The business by the pool was beginning to bother him. She
was his date. What was she doing posing for all those pictures?
He excused himself again to Suzie and light-headedly went
toward the men's room where he spent some time doing something
very unfamiliar to Tom; straightening a not-crooked tie, combing
back a crew cut too short to comb, and presenting his mirror image
with what he fancied as a sardonic grin.
Then he waggled his finger at the face grinning back at him
and said, "Hold on old boy, y'all's turn to dance with that woman
is coming. Whoof!"
He went back outside. Kerry and Ken were coming toward
Suzie. As they all began to head inside, Tom grabbed Kerry's
hand,
"Come on. I hear a waltz. I need to practice--I mean would
y'all care to dance maam?"
"Boy howdy, I would," answered Kerry with a grin, picking up
on the change of his mood. "How about out here? It's so much
cooler with much more room for waltzing. Besides, look up.
There's a moon."
Now that the photographers' flood lights were gone it could
be seen. And what a moon! The few couples sitting outside were
preoccupied enough not to recognize Kerry so Tom found himself
enjoying the waltz as they circled 'round and 'round the grassy
poolside area.
When the next number began, they slowed their steps to its
tempo and danced within a much smaller circle.
Tom finally spoke, "Do you. . ."
At almost the same moment Kerry asked, "Do you know that
tune?"
They looked at each other and laughed.
"Every Now and Then . . ." ventured Tom.
"I know, 'Every Now and Then Won't You Try and Remember
Me?'" Kerry added.
"I will," Tom suddenly found himself saying.
"Thank you," she replied, humming softly to herself.
By now Tom was no longer worried about crushing the flower
she wore and was holding her closely. It wasn't a difficult feat
for she fitted into his arms perfectly. Come to think of it, ole
K. N. had always meshed that way with him whenever his daydreams
had reached that point. And oh, Ken was wrong. There was
nothing much about this female that was like any calculator he
knew.
Tom would have gone along in this vein for hours but came to
when he realized someone was tapping him on the shoulder. It was
Mark.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom in a manner not like his
usual polite self.
Sorry, Mr. Archer," said Mark pulling a dazed Kerry firmly
away from Tom, "but I have to talk over some important ideas
about the next shots with Miss Nola before the photographers come
back. They're setting up lights around her supper table you
know."
"No, I didn't know," said Tom.
As Mark walked away with Kerry, he slipped an arm around her
shoulder, saying to Tom, "Don't worry, old buddy, you'll have
plenty of time to dance with her before midnight. Thanks."
Tom hadn't felt like fistfighting since the eighth grade,
but he now remembered the feeling and found that he had
unconsciously clenched his right fist.
He released it and walked back into the ballroom. Who did
this clown think he was telling him not to worry about midnight
coming? Cinderella's godmother?
Tom headed for more liquid consolation.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 11
As he stood by the punchbowl, he spotted Mark pulling Kerry along
to the dance floor. Pretty short "business", he thought.
As they danced by, he could have sworn that Kerry looked at
him entreatingly for a brief moment, but wasn't really sure for
they were was soon part of the carousel of dancers. He noticed
how smoothly the two of them danced together. No steps like
Tom's own clumsy ones were leading her; Mark and Kerry were
almost two as one (the way she'd made Tom feel).
As they circled by again, he noticed that Kerry was looking
into Mark's eyes in a puzzled way. At the same time Tom's head
was behaving in a puzzling way; feeling as if it were twirling
and twirling and almost ready to twist off at his neck.
Hey, he said to himself. Looks like all that punch has made
me punch - y. He started chuckling, but realized he was being
looked at strangely and straightened up his face.
Then he looked at Kerry and Mark again. It was too much to
sort out. What was she really? A tropical flower, brought in a
refrigerated car train car, to blossom for him briefly and then
be torn away?
Why had he let that Hollywood big shot take her away? Some
press agent he was. . . "Poorest press relations I ever heard
of," he heard himself grumbling. "But he knows I'd never stop
seeing her pic-picshurs."
Yet, through his haze, he knew it wasn't pictures he cared
about seeing, but Kerry Nola herself. He wanted to keep holding
her all night. And midnight WAS fast approaching and then she'd
be dancing the last dance with Ken and seated formally with him
at the dern supper table, making speeches and flirting with the
blithering, drooling idiots standing around (he couldn't stand it
and wouldn't stand it). Taking a swallow or two of punch, he
headed for the dance floor.
He wasn't the only one. By this time, those young men who
had been trying to figure a way to dance with her all evening had
spotted her and were cutting in one after the other.
As he approached, Tom realized what was happening and
doggedly kept cutting in, only to be cut in on in turn, waiting
briefly, then shoving guys aside to dance with her for a few
moments in a very possessive fashion and finally, repeating the
whole cycle again.
Meanwhile, from the sidelines, while ostensibly talking with
Joe Scott, Mark was observing the scene. Some earlier,
irrational jealousy had prompted him interrupt Tom and Kerry
while they were dancing on the patio. As he had walked inside
with her, he had teased her about their bet, saying that it
looked like he was going to have some good grist for the
publicity mill and that maybe they'd both come up "winners". He
added that it appeared that she had a live one there, who would
soon be ready to jump off that bridge they'd discussed before.
Kerry had laughed at first and then looked at him for a
moment.
"Mark, even if he is falling, we can't lead him on any more.
At least I can't."
At the same time she had thought to herself . . . funny, but
I don't remember consciously leading him on. It all just seemed
to happen -- or maybe I'm dreaming it happened.
"Are you kidding?" Mark had asked. "We're going to play it
for all it's worth. Let's see where it goes."
Before she could reply, the music had started for the next
dance and they were off.
Now, Mark realized that it was almost time for the last
dance before dinner. He knew he'd better find Ken and remove
Kerry from this insane circus, which he couldn't tell for sure if
she was enjoying or not. Usually he could read her pretty well.
When Tom, in his alcoholic haze, saw Mark headed toward
Kerry, he knew without words that his "punchiness" was turning
into "punchingness". Focussing on Mark as the real barrier to
Kerry, as the one who had arranged for the ubiquitous
photographers, official duties, admirers, and anyone or anything
else that had conspired to keep him from his destiny with Miss
Kerry Nola, he gave out a real Texas yell, twirled his arm around
in propeller fashion and let go . . . knocking the unprepared Mr.
Goodwin to the floor.
As chaperone, I had groaned when I saw an excited crowd
forming a circle. But I hurried over and worked my way through
to see Tom, my mild engineering student, standing there in a daze
looking at Kerry as she knelt at Mark's side, trying to determine
whether he was seriously hurt. She briefly looked up at Tom
trying to make sense out of what had happened. Just then a pair
of strong arms lifted, and practically dragged, Tom out of the
room. They belonged to the Dean of Students. Tom was being
taken one place. Out!
I hurried outside after him. Before he could see me, I saw
him raising his fist and shaking it at the hotel building. He
then looked as if he were going to singlehandedly storm the
building, but after a few minutes he turned and began walking down
the steps and shuffling along the sidewalk to our boarding house.
The Dean must have told him to head for home.
Hoping he would soon sleep it off, I hurried back in. I
pushed my way through the hovering photographers to discover that
Mark hadn't been badly hurt but that his beautiful tuxedo was
polka-dotted with blood from a nasty-looking nosebleed. Cooney
handed him his large handkerchief and then he and Kerry helped
him to get up. Mark quickly enlisted their further help to keep
the photographers at bay. Finally he turned his official duties
over to Joe Scott, who then escorted him up to his hotel room. I
learned later that after a warm shower, he had relieved his aches
and pains and calmed himself down with a snifter of brandy and a
small supper ordered for him by the hotel management. As you can
imagine, for obvious reasons, he was glad he hadn't told anyone
about his publicity scheme concerning Tom Archer. In such a big
crowd, not many knew what had really happened and the
speculations as usual were more interesting than the actual
event.
Kerry, being the excellent actress and consummate public
figure that she was, managed to draw attention back to herself,
even though she was perplexed by Tom's behavior and concerned
about Mark.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 12
The next morning when I'd gone out on the porch to get the
Sunday Paper I was surprised to see Tom behind me,just coming out the door.
He was dressed neatly but could certainly have used a shave.
He muttered a good-morning and headed down the steps. I guess
he'd decided to go to the University Chapel as he did most
Sundays, hangover (his first I understand and also the last he
ever fostered) or not.
He sat in the far back of the room and then, at the end of the
service, knelt for a few minutes. As he started back into the
aisle, he almost bumped into young woman who must have come over
from Suzie's school across the lake. As he excused himself, he
took another look. He knew he must be out of it. Kerry Nola,
golden vision, seducer of innocent college lads, a beauty to
drive men to drink, could not be attending a church service like
any ordinary, everyday student. But she was. Not only that, but
a light dusting of honest-to-goodness freckles served as her only
makeup.
"Wow!" was all he could think. Then, instantly, his face
reddened and he hurried out the door. There was no way she was
even going to speak to him after last night.
But then, at the bottom of the steps, he found himself
turning to face her. It was obvious that no one recognized her
for she was dressed very simply and had put on dark glasses as
she stepped out from the chapel.
When she got to where he was, he turned and began to walk at
her pace, not daring to look at her to see what sort of rejection
her countenance might reflect.
Yet, in spite of himself, he plunged in boldly, "Is Mr.
Goodwin . . .?"
"He's OK, but I don't understand why you . . . " she began,
then suddenly remembered noting the heavy "punch" smell on his
breath the last time he had cut in on her the night before.
"Will you be expelled?"
"I'll find out on Monday." Then, "I couldn't believe it
when I saw you in the chapel just now."
"Wait a minute," said Kerry, taking off her glasses and
blinking at the bright light, "You mean my reputation is such
that I'm not allowed in church? Even Mary Magdalene . . . "
Tom again felt his face color; something else, like the
fistfighting, which hadn't happened to him since the eighth
grade. "Don't say that," he said. "I didn't mean . . ."
"What you do mean is: Hollywood actresses don't have souls.
They're vacuous, cardboard manikins."
"Hey, don't get carried away." What was happening here,
what had he unleashed? I mean you're so involved in another kind
of life. Everything is playtime for you."
"You're saying I'm all come-on, a huckster at heart?""
No, No, I just never thought of you in relation to, I mean.
. . you know. . . " Oh, what the heck was he trying to express,
anyway? He couldn't believe this conversation. He had hurt her.
"I do and I don't," she cut in. "Did it ever occur to you
that I might have a life. Oh I admit, I tease a bit. It's fun
and it comes naturally to me and seems to be expected of me. But
I'm always acting when I do it and for your information it's "all
show". Anyone who really knows me knows that I'm highly aware of
the thin line between good taste and anything else, and I hope
I've never crossed that line."
Tom was speechless. He'd never allowed K. N. to be a
fleshed-out person and he'd only allowed Kerry Nola to be flesh.
Here in front of him was a fantastic blend. He noticed that she
had undone the elaborate coif of the night before and pulled her
hair back into a long braid which softly reflected the morning
sunlight.
He saw how young she really was without her usual
sophisticated apparel and makeup; so very similar to the girl who
had stepped into his dreams wearing the simple peasant outfit.
But that girl was made of gossamer stuff. This one was real. So
what, though? By now she was probably mad enough at him to take
off in a huff. He felt his knees starting the old shake.
"Excuse me,' he said as he stopped to lean against a tree.
"I guess I'm feeling weak; must be from last night. I haven't
recuperated yet." It didn't matter what excuse he made, she was
going to take off anyway and would soon be on a train and out of
his life.
But instead of walking off, she was looking up into the
tree. Wisteria vines were interwoven among the branches,
dripping their lavender blossoms, so much like the violet of her
eyes.
She turned and looked at him. He looked so penitent.
"Maybe you're just hungry."
"Maybe I am. Hey, would you want to come . . . nah, you
wouldn't."
"I wouldn't what?" she asked.
"You wouldn't want to come on over to our boarding house for
breakfast would you? My landlady usually serves waffles on
Sunday. I don't know if I could eat any but I know you'd sure
like them."
"I think I would. I haven't had homemade waffles for
years."
"Let's go," he said, grabbing her hand and heading off with
her across campus. She had to walk quickly to keep up with his
long legs.
When they came to the quad, he led her through the arbor of
oaks, comprised of trees older than the oldest buildings on campus. They
stopped to rest a moment on a bench surrounding a tree trunk, for
Tom had lost his second wind. Still, he found enough reserve to
complete something that had been building within him and had
beckoned him so strongly the evening before.
He kissed Kerry Nola.
Now the paper lips of K. N. were truly forgotten, and he was
aware of the warm familiarity of that person with whom he'd
danced and been tormented by the night before, but he kissed
Kerry Nola. And, to him, wonder of wonders, she kissed him back.
They stayed there awhile, words tumbling out between the two
of them as they shared their life stories and yes, another kiss
or two, but hunger won out I guess because they finally showed up
for breakfast. The other young men were dumbfounded for a second
or two, but Kerry soon had them relaxed and laughing. Tom didn't
seem to mind sharing her. He was in a world of his own and ate
maybe one waffle, not his usual six, (and that without syrup) as
if he were afraid of losing something, which I imagine he was in
more ways than one; not that I kidded him of course.
I would like to say that they spent the afternoon together,
but they didn't. Kerry had more stills to pose for around the
campus. She had slipped off to church when most everyone else of
her group at the hotel was still asleep and when she arrived back
around one o'clock they were just beginning to look for her.
Mark knew her habit of slipping off to church, but when it grew
late had started to search the town. He wasn't too keen on the
publicity of "FAMOUS STAR KIDNAPPED" at this point.
For this reason he missed Tom's goodbye to her at the hotel
steps. Tom had the feeling that Kerry almost seemed to be
memorizing his face.
"Hey," he said, holding her hand tightly. " 'Every Now and
Then, Won't You Try and Remember Me?'"
Kerry reluctantly took her hand away looked back at him as
she went up the steps "Hey, Texas, are you corny or what?"
"I warn you," he grinned, "when y'all hear that song, you'll
remember me."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 13
Tom was in class the next morning when he heard the train
whistle. He wondered what Kerry was thinking about as she left
town. Would she soon forget what they'd shared or even Indian
Falls itself? Wait a minute, he thought, could this be true?
This was Kerry Nola, the movie star, he was thinking about.
Sunday morning was beginning to take on dreamlike proportions;
but, hey, she had left him her forwarding address.
On that same train, Kerry couldn't concentrate on the trip
ahead as she usually did. So much that was real and meaningful
(