before the small mirror over the bureau, turning and twisting to see all parts of herself It always bothered her that she wasn't tall and willowy. Stand tall, she told herself Head high. I'm Valerie Ashbrook's guest and I'm going to dinner at the home of Thos Carlyle, who owns KNEX-TV and probably has no idea I work for him, and I'll be meeting people who are really important. And if I do things right, someday I'U be invited there on my own, not because Valerie thought I was a charity case. I'll be invited because I'll be as important as the rest of them.
Precisely at seven o'clock she was in fi-ont of the house, where Valerie had said she would pick her up. She stood there, near the curbing, feet together, head high, for twenty minutes, until a black limousine pulled to a smooth stop beside her and Valerie opened the back door. "Goodness, you're prompt."
"Did I get the time wrong.>" Sybille gave a swift glance at the dark-blue velvet interior of the car, and instantly memorized it. A small bar and telephone were at one side, a television set was on the other. Valerie, she saw, was wearing black, simpler than her own dress, more stylish, more sophisticated. "I thought you said seven."
"I did; I'm late. Somehow I couldn't get myself organized."
"Oh." No apology, Sybille noted, and wondered if that was the way Valerie always behaved. She saw so little of her on campus, and she knew none of her friends; maybe all of them were casual about things like being on time. Even the invitation to the party had been casual; they had run into each other in the library a few days before and when Sybille mentioned KNEX, Valerie said she knew the owner. "He and his wife are giving a dinner party and they told me to bring a friend; would you like to meet him?" Just that easily, Sybille was on the guest list for Thos Carlyle's dinner.
The driver drove toward the hiUs. "I thought you drive a Mercedes sports car," Sybille said. "Is this your limousine?"
"Lord, no, who wants a boat like this? This is Thos's. He doesn't like the idea of young ladies driving up to the hills alone at night, especially me, since he and my parents are so close. He probably told them he'd keep an eye on me, and he's such a gallant gentleman, I don't argue."
"But why would you?" Sybille asked. "It's wonderful."
"Well, for one thing, we go at the driver's speed, instead of mine. Tell me whafs happening at the station. I heard someone got fired."
"He wasn't fired, he's going to the network. It's the greatest thing in the world for him. How do stories get around so fast? It only happened a couple of days ago."
"Oh, this place is so small, and people love to be bearers of news, good or bad. Is that something you want—to go to the network?"
"Of course; what else would I want? It's where everything happens. All the things I'm doing are to get there as fast as I can."
Valerie stirred in her seat, uncomfortable, as always, with intensity. "How can you have it so settled? All laid out, like a roadmap. Nick is like that; he's got it all figured out, where he's going, how he's going to get there, what he'll do when he's there. He's not as fierce about it as you are, but both of you sound sort of like sergeants: charge the hill, don't look left or right until you get to the top. Don't you ever relax and just have a good time?"
"You're jealous," Sybille said shrewdly.
There was the briefest pause, then Valerie laughed. "Guess again. I'm not an onward-and-upward type."
Sybille glanced out the window. They were in the hills overlooking Palo Alto, winding up slopes covered with the lush green and brilliant gardens of March. It was hard to believe, she thought, that by late summer, weeks of dry weather would have turned all this to a pale yellow-brown. She looked at the houses they passed, sprawling cedar and stone, set into the hills, and wondered what Valerie thought of them. Did these magnificent houses look small and ordinary to her? Did she think about living up
Precisely at seven o'clock she was in fi-ont of the house, where Valerie had said she would pick her up. She stood there, near the curbing, feet together, head high, for twenty minutes, until a black limousine pulled to a smooth stop beside her and Valerie opened the back door. "Goodness, you're prompt."
"Did I get the time wrong.>" Sybille gave a swift glance at the dark-blue velvet interior of the car, and instantly memorized it. A small bar and telephone were at one side, a television set was on the other. Valerie, she saw, was wearing black, simpler than her own dress, more stylish, more sophisticated. "I thought you said seven."
"I did; I'm late. Somehow I couldn't get myself organized."
"Oh." No apology, Sybille noted, and wondered if that was the way Valerie always behaved. She saw so little of her on campus, and she knew none of her friends; maybe all of them were casual about things like being on time. Even the invitation to the party had been casual; they had run into each other in the library a few days before and when Sybille mentioned KNEX, Valerie said she knew the owner. "He and his wife are giving a dinner party and they told me to bring a friend; would you like to meet him?" Just that easily, Sybille was on the guest list for Thos Carlyle's dinner.
The driver drove toward the hiUs. "I thought you drive a Mercedes sports car," Sybille said. "Is this your limousine?"
"Lord, no, who wants a boat like this? This is Thos's. He doesn't like the idea of young ladies driving up to the hills alone at night, especially me, since he and my parents are so close. He probably told them he'd keep an eye on me, and he's such a gallant gentleman, I don't argue."
"But why would you?" Sybille asked. "It's wonderful."
"Well, for one thing, we go at the driver's speed, instead of mine. Tell me whafs happening at the station. I heard someone got fired."
"He wasn't fired, he's going to the network. It's the greatest thing in the world for him. How do stories get around so fast? It only happened a couple of days ago."
"Oh, this place is so small, and people love to be bearers of news, good or bad. Is that something you want—to go to the network?"
"Of course; what else would I want? It's where everything happens. All the things I'm doing are to get there as fast as I can."
Valerie stirred in her seat, uncomfortable, as always, with intensity. "How can you have it so settled? All laid out, like a roadmap. Nick is like that; he's got it all figured out, where he's going, how he's going to get there, what he'll do when he's there. He's not as fierce about it as you are, but both of you sound sort of like sergeants: charge the hill, don't look left or right until you get to the top. Don't you ever relax and just have a good time?"
"You're jealous," Sybille said shrewdly.
There was the briefest pause, then Valerie laughed. "Guess again. I'm not an onward-and-upward type."
Sybille glanced out the window. They were in the hills overlooking Palo Alto, winding up slopes covered with the lush green and brilliant gardens of March. It was hard to believe, she thought, that by late summer, weeks of dry weather would have turned all this to a pale yellow-brown. She looked at the houses they passed, sprawling cedar and stone, set into the hills, and wondered what Valerie thought of them. Did these magnificent houses look small and ordinary to her? Did she think about living up
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