witness, the main piece on the game board.
Exhaustion finally drove us home.
On Saturday we camped out at the library, all three of us dressed for serious digging, in jeans and sweatshirts and Nikes. Tom and Cyd perched on stools in front of the computers, Tom’s long legs wound around the legs of the stool.
I wandered off to climb the curved stone staircase near the main entrance, trailing my fingers along the gray wall. The stone treads dipped in the centers, worn by how many thousands of feet running up and down? I adored the atmosphere of Suzzallo and felt kind of sorry I didn’t adore equally the knowledge it held.
When I returned to the computer area, Cyd and Tom had notepads covered with numbers and locations of books. They were ready to start sleuthing.
Cyd said, “Damn, wouldn’t you know half of what I want is over in a collection in a classroom building and they’re closed today?”
“The whole building is closed?”
“No, but the room with the book collection is.”
They pulled the few books on silent films that we’d missed on the first search and flipped through them, scanning photos. Most of the shots were of stars, occasionally with bit players in the background. I looked for a face to recognize behind the famous faces of Norma Talmadge, Maurice Costello, Helen Gardner, Mary Pickford, Ronald Colman, Blanche Sweet, Larry Semon.
Cyd read off the names in the captions as she flipped pages.
Larry. Laurence.
“Wait,” I said and turned back the page. No, another dead end. Larry Semon who had starred in a silent version of Wizard of Oz in 1925 was not my Laurence. Definitely not.
“Florence Turner, the Vitagraph Girl,” Cyd read. “What do you suppose a Vitagraph Girl is? Oh look at this one. ‘Mabel Normand stars in The Extra Girl.’ Don’t you love the titles? Wanderer of the Wasteland. That could be my life story. Or Jazzmania. Sounds like a cross between a phobia and a sexually transmitted disease.”
“Anything look familiar?” Tom asked me.
“The clothes, the hairstyles, the cosmetics. Not the faces.”
Cyd gathered up the books and dumped them on the re-shelving area. “That’s that. We’ll have to check out the other collection whenever we can get a weekday off.”
“I could come over Monday morning,” I said.
“You have a job interview on Monday.”
“Get real. They aren’t going to hire me.”
We joked about it, sitting together, drinking coffee in the Hub cafeteria, the center of campus life, never doubting our relationship would go on next week and the week after, nothing changing, best friends forever. And probably me unemployed forever and Cyd and Tom grousing about their boring jobs forever.
But after Monday nothing could be the same again between us, though it took us all a while to realize. Because on Monday, I found Laurence.
CHAPTER 6
When I got off the bus on University Way to walk to the campus, the mist blew across my face in thin veils, clinging to my eyelashes, blurring my vision. I pulled my windbreaker hood forward over my rapidly frizzing hair.
Dashing across the street, up the stairs and over the footbridge past the Henry Art Gallery, I hurried toward the campus. Rain bounced off the red bricks of the plaza.
After cutting down another shallow flight of stairs and along the older walkway that rounded the fountain, I made a run for the building that Cyd had said contained a collection of film history books. By the time I was through the heavy door, my soaked jeans clung to my legs.
I stood dripping in the foyer, wondering where the department library was located or if I even had the right building. Digging into my pockets, I pulled out a handful of change and a soggy bus transfer but not the list of call numbers that Cyd had given me.
If it was lost, I would have to start all over tracking down
Exhaustion finally drove us home.
On Saturday we camped out at the library, all three of us dressed for serious digging, in jeans and sweatshirts and Nikes. Tom and Cyd perched on stools in front of the computers, Tom’s long legs wound around the legs of the stool.
I wandered off to climb the curved stone staircase near the main entrance, trailing my fingers along the gray wall. The stone treads dipped in the centers, worn by how many thousands of feet running up and down? I adored the atmosphere of Suzzallo and felt kind of sorry I didn’t adore equally the knowledge it held.
When I returned to the computer area, Cyd and Tom had notepads covered with numbers and locations of books. They were ready to start sleuthing.
Cyd said, “Damn, wouldn’t you know half of what I want is over in a collection in a classroom building and they’re closed today?”
“The whole building is closed?”
“No, but the room with the book collection is.”
They pulled the few books on silent films that we’d missed on the first search and flipped through them, scanning photos. Most of the shots were of stars, occasionally with bit players in the background. I looked for a face to recognize behind the famous faces of Norma Talmadge, Maurice Costello, Helen Gardner, Mary Pickford, Ronald Colman, Blanche Sweet, Larry Semon.
Cyd read off the names in the captions as she flipped pages.
Larry. Laurence.
“Wait,” I said and turned back the page. No, another dead end. Larry Semon who had starred in a silent version of Wizard of Oz in 1925 was not my Laurence. Definitely not.
“Florence Turner, the Vitagraph Girl,” Cyd read. “What do you suppose a Vitagraph Girl is? Oh look at this one. ‘Mabel Normand stars in The Extra Girl.’ Don’t you love the titles? Wanderer of the Wasteland. That could be my life story. Or Jazzmania. Sounds like a cross between a phobia and a sexually transmitted disease.”
“Anything look familiar?” Tom asked me.
“The clothes, the hairstyles, the cosmetics. Not the faces.”
Cyd gathered up the books and dumped them on the re-shelving area. “That’s that. We’ll have to check out the other collection whenever we can get a weekday off.”
“I could come over Monday morning,” I said.
“You have a job interview on Monday.”
“Get real. They aren’t going to hire me.”
We joked about it, sitting together, drinking coffee in the Hub cafeteria, the center of campus life, never doubting our relationship would go on next week and the week after, nothing changing, best friends forever. And probably me unemployed forever and Cyd and Tom grousing about their boring jobs forever.
But after Monday nothing could be the same again between us, though it took us all a while to realize. Because on Monday, I found Laurence.
CHAPTER 6
When I got off the bus on University Way to walk to the campus, the mist blew across my face in thin veils, clinging to my eyelashes, blurring my vision. I pulled my windbreaker hood forward over my rapidly frizzing hair.
Dashing across the street, up the stairs and over the footbridge past the Henry Art Gallery, I hurried toward the campus. Rain bounced off the red bricks of the plaza.
After cutting down another shallow flight of stairs and along the older walkway that rounded the fountain, I made a run for the building that Cyd had said contained a collection of film history books. By the time I was through the heavy door, my soaked jeans clung to my legs.
I stood dripping in the foyer, wondering where the department library was located or if I even had the right building. Digging into my pockets, I pulled out a handful of change and a soggy bus transfer but not the list of call numbers that Cyd had given me.
If it was lost, I would have to start all over tracking down
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