spreadsheet for hours on end. At six, I turned off my lamp and didn’t see a soul on the way out of the building. When I emerged onto the street, I squinted like a mole coming into the sunlight.
Kathy Knowlton,
Ohio State University, 1969
_________
THE GLOBETROTTER
Brains or beauty? With her top-of-the-class grades and her sleek chestnut hair, Kathy is a clear case of the obvious answer: both! Future work: Kathy wants to be a teacher or a doctor. Epidemiology—the study of the spread of diseases—excites her the most. Future play: There’s no place she doesn’t want to travel.
Chapter Three
I n the end, I’d e-mailed Robert to tell him the news about my job and had asked him to forward along my profuse thanks to Lily. I’d said it just like that: “Please pass along my profuse thanks,” which you could read with utter sincerity or with an edge, like lace so starched it scratched. I meant it more or less both ways, because even if I didn’t want to be indebted to Lily, even if I wanted to dismiss and ignore her, she’d done something major for me, I had to begrudgingly acknowledge it. Though that didn’t mean I had to correspond with her directly.
Lily, however, didn’t seem to feel any such desire for distance. That night when I got home, she’d sent me a note from her fancy Craven & Swinton law firm e-mail:
Dawn, Robert told me the great news. I’m so excited for you! Also, another connection, turns out my sister’s college roommate was a Ten Girl. You know TheOne.com? She founded it. She’s in town from Dallas, and Robert and I are having her over for dinner tomorrow. I know this is absolutely last minute, but Robert and I are wondering if there’s any chance you’re free to join us?
Friendliness at the Pretzel Party was one thing. We all play parts at parties. But this? Was she really so secure that she didn’t see me as any sort of threat? Or maybe she was masking over a sort of perverse curiosity, wanting to know exactly what Robert’s old girlfriend was like, the way, in high school, I could never help looking at the disturbing pictures in my biology textbooks—burrowing parasitic worms, birth canals. I felt that way about Lily. Thoughts of her and Robert together were like a sore in my mouth I kept worrying, unable to keep myself from the precise and reliable pain they delivered.
Or maybe she was just generous. One of those famous connectors. Not that I read them, but I knew there were business books that categorized people like that. She was a maven or a hub or an axle, some moniker, the discussion of which was supposed to be worth the cover price. Maybe that was it.
But there was something else I didn’t like: “Robert and I are wondering . . .” I could just hear the words in her husky, alluring voice, the ease with which joint invitations were already rolling off her tongue. Robert and I would like to invite you to dinner. Robert and I would like to invite you to our wedding. Robert and I would like to console you on the lifetime of loneliness ahead of you.
I thought about the time I had tried to host a party with Robert. A Christmas party, sophomore year of college, in his room. I’d used the dorm’s kitchen to bake cookies and cakes and cream puffs and thought it was all just spectacular. The pièce de résistance, just before guests arrived: I whipped up the punch my mother had made for every special occasion at home: four liters of Sprite with a half gallon of rainbow sherbet scooped in. I loved this punch. I made it without thinking that it might not fit in my new world. When Robert came into the room, he looked at the punch, and an awful smirk took possession of his face. I felt like I would have at age fourteen had someone caught me stuffing my bra—embarrassed for the act itself, but even more deeply humiliated to have been exposed as a person who wants to be something she’s not. I was a person who thought sherbet punch was elegant and festive, masquerading
Kathy Knowlton,
Ohio State University, 1969
_________
THE GLOBETROTTER
Brains or beauty? With her top-of-the-class grades and her sleek chestnut hair, Kathy is a clear case of the obvious answer: both! Future work: Kathy wants to be a teacher or a doctor. Epidemiology—the study of the spread of diseases—excites her the most. Future play: There’s no place she doesn’t want to travel.
Chapter Three
I n the end, I’d e-mailed Robert to tell him the news about my job and had asked him to forward along my profuse thanks to Lily. I’d said it just like that: “Please pass along my profuse thanks,” which you could read with utter sincerity or with an edge, like lace so starched it scratched. I meant it more or less both ways, because even if I didn’t want to be indebted to Lily, even if I wanted to dismiss and ignore her, she’d done something major for me, I had to begrudgingly acknowledge it. Though that didn’t mean I had to correspond with her directly.
Lily, however, didn’t seem to feel any such desire for distance. That night when I got home, she’d sent me a note from her fancy Craven & Swinton law firm e-mail:
Dawn, Robert told me the great news. I’m so excited for you! Also, another connection, turns out my sister’s college roommate was a Ten Girl. You know TheOne.com? She founded it. She’s in town from Dallas, and Robert and I are having her over for dinner tomorrow. I know this is absolutely last minute, but Robert and I are wondering if there’s any chance you’re free to join us?
Friendliness at the Pretzel Party was one thing. We all play parts at parties. But this? Was she really so secure that she didn’t see me as any sort of threat? Or maybe she was masking over a sort of perverse curiosity, wanting to know exactly what Robert’s old girlfriend was like, the way, in high school, I could never help looking at the disturbing pictures in my biology textbooks—burrowing parasitic worms, birth canals. I felt that way about Lily. Thoughts of her and Robert together were like a sore in my mouth I kept worrying, unable to keep myself from the precise and reliable pain they delivered.
Or maybe she was just generous. One of those famous connectors. Not that I read them, but I knew there were business books that categorized people like that. She was a maven or a hub or an axle, some moniker, the discussion of which was supposed to be worth the cover price. Maybe that was it.
But there was something else I didn’t like: “Robert and I are wondering . . .” I could just hear the words in her husky, alluring voice, the ease with which joint invitations were already rolling off her tongue. Robert and I would like to invite you to dinner. Robert and I would like to invite you to our wedding. Robert and I would like to console you on the lifetime of loneliness ahead of you.
I thought about the time I had tried to host a party with Robert. A Christmas party, sophomore year of college, in his room. I’d used the dorm’s kitchen to bake cookies and cakes and cream puffs and thought it was all just spectacular. The pièce de résistance, just before guests arrived: I whipped up the punch my mother had made for every special occasion at home: four liters of Sprite with a half gallon of rainbow sherbet scooped in. I loved this punch. I made it without thinking that it might not fit in my new world. When Robert came into the room, he looked at the punch, and an awful smirk took possession of his face. I felt like I would have at age fourteen had someone caught me stuffing my bra—embarrassed for the act itself, but even more deeply humiliated to have been exposed as a person who wants to be something she’s not. I was a person who thought sherbet punch was elegant and festive, masquerading
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