Sons of Fortune

“What do you mean?”

“I shall have to arrange a meeting.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure, her father’s a local auto dealer, and we always buy our cars from him, so you’ll just have to come and stay with me during the holidays.”

Tom didn’t hear if his friend accepted the invitation, because his reply was drowned by another roar from the Taft supporters as the Bearcats intercepted.

When the whistle blew at the end of the first quarter, Nat let out the biggest cheer, having forgotten that his team was trailing. He remained standing in the hope that the girl with the head of curly fair hair and the most captivating smile might just notice him. But how could she, as she leaped energetically up and down, encouraging the Taft supporters to cheer even louder.

The whistle for the start of the second quarter came all too quickly, and when A disappeared back in the bleachers to be replaced by thirty muscle-bound heavies, Nat reluctantly resumed his place and pretended to concentrate on the game.

After gaining painful yard upon painful yard, Taft finally crossed the line and took the lead. Dutifully Diane reappeared on the sidelines to perform her energetic routine.

“You’ve got it bad,” said Tom, “I guess I’m going to have to introduce you.”

“You really know her?” said Nat in disbelief.

“Sure do,” said Tom. “We’ve been going to the same parties since the age of two.”

“I wonder if she has a boyfriend,” said Nat.

“How should I know? Why don’t you come and spend a week with us during vacation, and then you can leave the rest to me.”

“You’d do that?”

“It’ll cost you.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Make sure you finish the holiday assignments before you turn up—then I won’t have to bother double-checking all the facts.”

“It’s a deal,” said Nat.

After the game, on the other side of the stadium, Nat and Tom stood outside the locker rooms, along with a multitude of Taft supporters who, with one exception, were waiting to greet their heroes. Nat nudged his friend in the ribs as she came out. Tom stepped quickly forward. “Hi, Diane,” he said and, not waiting for a reply, added, “I want you to meet my friend Nat. Actually, the truth is he wanted to meet you.” Nat blushed, and not just because he thought Diane was even prettier than her photo. “Nat lives in Cromwell,” added Tom helpfully, “but he’s coming to spend a few days with us after Christmas, so you can get to know him better then.”

Nat only felt confident of one thing; Tom’s chosen career wasn’t destined to be in the diplomatic corps.

8

Nat sat at his desk, trying to concentrate on the Great Depression. He managed about half a page, but he found his mind kept wandering. He went over the short meeting he’d had with Diane, again and again. This didn’t take long because she’d hardly said a word before his father had joined them and suggested they ought to be leaving.

Nat had cut out her picture from the football program, and carried it around with him wherever he went. He was beginning to wish he’d picked up at least three programs, because the little photo was becoming so worn. He’d rung Tom the following morning on the pretense of discussing the Wall Street crash, and then casually threw in, “Did Diane say anything about me after I’d left?”

“She thought you were very nice.”

“Nothing else?”

“What else could she say? You only had about two minutes together before your father dragged you off.”

“Did she like me?”

“She thought you were very nice, and if I remember correctly, she said something about James Dean.”

“No, she didn’t—did she?”

“No, you’re right—she didn’t.”