Sons of Fortune

“And the balls to go with it, it would seem,” Joanna replied. “By the way, never let him know, but I was extremely flattered that he thought I might be a freshman.”

Joanna Palmer placed her books on the long desk and turned to face the packed lecture theater. “The French Revolution is the turning point of modern European history,” she began to a rapt audience. “Although America had already removed a monarch,” she paused, “without having to remove his head…” Her eyes swept the tiered benches as her pupils laughed, before coming to rest on Jimmy Gates. He winked.

They held hands as they walked across the campus to their first lecture. They had become friends during the rehearsals of the play, inseparable in the week of the performance, and had both lost their virginity together during spring vacation. When Nat told his lover that he would not be going to Yale, but joining her at the University of Connecticut, Rebecca felt guilty about how happy the news made her.

Susan and Michael Cartwright liked Rebecca the moment they met her, and their disappointment over Nat not being offered an immediate place at Yale was softened by seeing their son so relaxed for the first time in his life.

The opening lecture in Buckley Hall was on the subject of American literature, and delivered by Professor Hayman. During the summer vacation, Nat and Rebecca had read all the authors on the assigned list—James, Steinbeck, Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Bellow—and then discussed in detail Washington Square, The Grapes of Wrath, For Whom the Bell Tolls, The Great Gatsby, and Herzog. So by the time they took their places in the lecture theater that Tuesday morning, they both felt confident they were well prepared. Within moments of Professor Hayman delivering his opening salvo, they both realized that they had done little more than read the texts. They had not considered the different influences on the authors that birth, upbringing, educati

on, religion and mere circumstance had brought to their work, nor given any thought to the fact that the gift of storytelling was not bestowed on any particular class, color or creed.

“Take, for example, Scott Fitzgerald,” continued the professor, in his short story, ‘Bernice Bobs Her Hair.’”

Nat looked up from his notes and saw the back of his head. He felt sick. He stopped listening to Professor Hayman’s views on Fitzgerald and continued to stare for some time before the student turned and began talking to his neighbor. Nat’s worst fears were confirmed. Ralph Elliot was not only at the same university, but taking the same course. Almost as if conscious of being stared at, Elliot suddenly turned around. He didn’t acknowledge Nat, as his attention settled on Rebecca. Nat glanced across at her, but she was too busy taking notes on Fitzgerald’s drinking problems during his time in Hollywood to register Elliot’s unsubtle interest.

Nat waited until Elliot had left the lecture theater before he collected his books and rose from his place.

“Who was that who kept turning around and staring at you?” asked Rebecca, as they strolled over to the dining hall.

“His name’s Ralph Elliot,” said Nat. “We were both at Taft, and I think he was staring at you, not me.”

“He’s very good looking,” said Rebecca with a grin. “He reminds me a little of Jay Gatsby. Is he the one Mr. Thompson thought would make a good Malvolio?”

“A natural, I think were Thomo’s exact words.”

Over lunch, Rebecca pressed Nat to tell her more about Elliot, but he said that there wasn’t that much to tell, and continually tried to change the subject. If enjoying Rebecca’s company also meant having to be at the same university as Ralph Elliot, it was something he’d learn to live with.

Elliot didn’t attend the afternoon lecture on the Spanish influence over the colonies, and by the time Nat accompanied Rebecca back to her room that evening, he had almost forgotten the unwelcome presence of his old rival.

The women’s dorms were on south campus, and Nat’s freshman advisor had warned him that it was against the regulations for men to be found in residence after dark.

“Whoever fixed the regulations,” said Nat, as he lay next to Rebecca on her single bed, “must have thought that students could only make love in the dark.” Rebecca laughed as she pulled her sweater back on.

“Which means that during the spring semester you won’t have to go back to your room until after nine o’clock,” she said.

“Perhaps the regulations will allow me to stay with you after the spring semester,” said Nat without explanation.

During his first term, Nat was relieved to discover that he rarely came into contact with Ralph Elliot. His rival showed no interest in cross-country running, acting or music, so it came as a surprise when Nat found him chatting to Rebecca outside the chapel on the last Sunday of the term. Elliot quickly walked away the moment he saw Nat approaching them.

“What did he want?” asked Nat defensively.

“Just going over his ideas to improve the student council. He’s running as the freshman representative, and wanted to know if you were thinking of putting your name forward.”

“No, I’m not,” said Nat firmly. “I’ve had enough of elections.”

“I think that’s a pity,” said Rebecca, squeezing Nat’s hand, “because I know a lot of our class hope you will run.”

“Not while he’s in the field,” said Nat.

“Why do you hate him so much?” asked Rebecca. “Is it just because he beat you in that silly school election?” Nat stared across at Elliot and watched him chatting to a group of students—the same insincere smile, and no doubt the same glib promises. “Don’t you think it’s possible that he might have changed?” said Rebecca.

Nat didn’t bother to reply.

“Right,” said Jimmy, “the first election you can run for is as freshman representative on the Yale college council.”

“I thought I’d skip elections during my first year,” said Fletcher, “and just concentrate on work.”

“You can’t risk it,” declared Jimmy.