“More figure than cult,” she told Florentyna.
Bella’s tactics for trying to win the match were later described by the Harvard Crimson as nothing short of diabolical. When the Harvard team arrived in their bus they were met by eleven amazons with hockey sticks slung over their shoulders. The fit young men were immediately whisked off for lunch. Members of the Harvard squad never normally drank a drop before a match, but as the girls, without exception, ordered beers, they felt honor-bound to join them. Most of the men managed three cans before lunch and also enjoyed the excellent wine served throughout the meal. None of the Harvard men thought to comment on Radcliffe’s generosity or to ask if they were breaking any college rules. All twenty-two ended the lunch with a glass of champagne to toast the fortunes of both colleges.
The eleven Harvard men were then escorted to their locker room, where they found another magnum of champagne awaiting them. The eleven happy ladies left them to change. When the Harvard captain led his team out onto the hockey field he was met by a crowd of over five hundred spectators and eleven strapping girls whom he had never before seen in his life. Eleven other ladies, not unknown to the captain, were finding it hard to remain awake in the stands. Harvard was down 3–0 by half time and was lucky to lose only 7–0. The Harvard Crimson might well have described Bella as a cheat, but the Boston Globe declared her to be a woman of great enterprise.
The captain of the Harvard team immediately challenged Bella to replay against the full varsity squad. “Exactly what I wanted in the first place,” she told Florentyna. Bella accepted by sending a telegram from one side of Cambridge Common to the other. It read: “Your place or mine?” Radcliffe had to arrange for several cars to transport their supporters, their ranks swelled by Harvard’s decision to put on a dance that evening after the game. Florentyna drove Bella and three other members of the team across the river in her newly acquired 1952 Oldsmobile, with hockey sticks, shin pads and evening dresses piled high in the trunk. When they arrived, they did not meet up with any of the Harvard team before they reached the playing field. This time they were greeted by a crowd of three thousand, which included President Conant of Harvard and President Jordan of Radcliffe.
Bella’s tactics again bordered on the dubious: each of her girls had clearly been instructed to play the man and not to concentrate too much on the ball. Ruthless hacking at vulnerable shins enabled them to hold Harvard to a scoreless first half.
The Radcliffe team nearly scored in the first minute of the second half, which inspired them to rise above their normal game, and it began to look as if the match might end in a draw when the Harvard center forward, a man only slightly smaller than Bella, broke through and looked poised to score. He had reached the edge of the circle when Bella came charging out of her cage and hit him flat out with a shoulder charge. That was the last he remembered of the match and he departed a few seconds later on a stretcher. Both referees blew their whistles at once and a penalty was awarded to Harvard with only a minute to go. Their left wing was selected to take the shot. The five-foot-nine, slimly built man waited for the two teams to line up. He cracked the ball sharply to the right inner, who lofted a shot straight at Bella’s chest pad. It dropped at her feet, and she clicked it to the right, where it rolled in front of the diminutive left wing. Bella charged at the slight figure, and gentle people in the crowd covered their eyes, but this time she had met her match. The left wing sidestepped deftly, leaving the Radcliffe captain spread-eagled on the ground and himself ample time to flick the ball into the back of the net. The whistle blew and Radcliffe lost 1–0.
It was the only occasion on which Florentyna had seen Bella cry, even though the crowd gave her a standing ovation as she led her team off the field. Although defeated, Bella ended up with two compensations: the U.S. Women’s Hockey Team selected her to play for her country, and she had met her future husband.
Florentyna was introduced to Claude Lamont at the reception after the match. He looked even smaller in his neat blue blazer and gray flannel trousers than he had on the field.
“Little sweetheart, isn’t he?” said Bella, patting him on the head. “Amazing goal.” Florentyna was surprised that Claude did not seem to object. All he said was “Didn’t she play a first-class game?”
Bella and Florentyna returned to their rooms at Radcliffe, where they changed for the dance. Claude accompanied both girls to the affair, which Bella compared to a cattle show as the men swarmed around her old roommate. They all wanted to dance the jitterbug with her, so Claude was dispatched to fetch enough food and drink to feed an army, which Bella disposed of while she watched her friend in a whirl of Trigère silk on the dance floor.
She first saw him sitting talking to a girl in the corner of the room while she was dancing. He must have been about six feet tall, with wavy fair hair and a tan that only proved he did not spend his winter vacations in Cambridge. As she stared, he turned toward the dance floor and their eyes met. Florentyna turned quickly away and tried to concentrate on what her partner was saying—something about America moving into the computer age and how he was going to climb on the bandwagon. When the dance ended, the talkative partner took her back to Bella. Florentyna turned to find him by her side.
“Have you had something to eat?” he asked.
“No,” she lied.
“Would you like to join my table?”
“Thank you,” she said, and left Bella and Claude discussing the relative merits of the value of wing-to-wing passing, comparing field hockey with ice hockey.
For the first few minutes neither of them spoke. He brought some food over from the buffet and then they both tried to speak at once. His name was Scott Roberts and he was majoring in history at Harvard. Florentyna had read about him in Boston’s society columns, one of the heirs to the Roberts family business and one of the most sought-after young men in America. She wished it were otherwise. What’s in a name? she said to herself as she told him hers. It didn’t seem to register.
“A pretty name for a beautiful woman,” he said. “I’m sorry we haven’t met before.” Florentyna smiled. He added, “Actually, I was at Radcliffe a few weeks ago, playing in the infamous hockey game when we lost seven-nothing.”
“You played in that match? I didn’t notice you.”
“I’m not surprised. I spent most of the time on the ground feeling sick. I had never drunk so much in my life. Bella Hellaman may look big to you when you’re sober, but she looks like a Sherman tank when you’re drunk.”
Florentyna laughed and sat happily listening to Scott tell stories of Harvard, his family and his life in Boston. For the rest of the evening she danced only with one man and when the night came to an end he accompanied her back to Radcliffe.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” Scott asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Why don’t we drive out to the country and have lunch together?”
“I’d like that.”
Florentyna and Bella spent most of that night telling each other about their respective partners.
“Do you think it matters that he’s straight out of the Social Register?”
“Not if he’s a man worth taking seriously,” replied Bella, aware of just how real Florentyna’s fears were. “I have no idea if Claude is in any social register,” she added.
The next morning, Scott Roberts and Florentyna drove out into the countryside in his smart new MG. She had never been happier in her life. They lunched in a little restaurant in Dedham which was full of people whom Scott seemed to know. Florentyna was introduced to a Lowell, a Winthrop, a Cabot and another Roberts. She was relieved to see Edward Winchester coming toward her from a corner table, leading an attractive dark-haired girl by the hand—at least, Florentyna thought, I know someone. She was astonished at how handsome and happy Edward looked and soon found out why, when he introduced his fiancée, Danielle.
“You two ought to get on famously,” said Edward.
“Why?” asked Florentyna, smiling
at the girl.
“Danielle is French and I’ve been telling her for a long time that I might have been the Dauphin but even when I declared you were a witch, you had to teach me how to pronounce socière.”
As Florentyna watched them depart hand in hand, Scott said quietly, “Je n’ai jamais pensé que je tomberais amoureux d’une sorcière.”
Florentyna chose a simple meal of Dover sole and nodded her approval of his selection of Muscadet, grateful for her knowledge of food and wine, and was surprised to find at four o’clock that they were the only two left in the restaurant, with a headwaiter hinting that the time might have come to prepare for the evening meal. When they returned to Radcliffe, Scott kissed her gently on the cheek and said he would call her tomorrow.
He phoned during lunchtime the next day to ask if she could bear to watch him play ice hockey for the junior varsity against Penn on Saturday and suggested dinner together afterward.
Florentyna accepted, masking her delight, for she couldn’t wait to see him again. It seemed the longest week in her life.
On Saturday morning she made one important decision about her weekend with Scott. She packed a small suitcase and put it in the trunk of her car before driving to the rink long before the face-off. She sat in the bleachers, waiting for Scott to arrive. For a moment she feared he might not feel the same way about her when they met for a third time, but he dispelled that fear in a moment when he waved and skated across the ice toward her.
“Bella said I can’t come home if you lose.”
“Perhaps I don’t want you to,” he said, as he glided slantingly away.
She watched the game, becoming colder and colder. Scott hardly seemed to touch the puck all afternoon, but he still managed to get slammed repeatedly into the boards. She decided that it was a stupid sport but that she would not tell him so. After the match was over, she sat in her car waiting for him to change; then another reception and at last they were on their own. He took her to Locke-Ober’s, where again he seemed to know everyone, but this time she did not recognize anybody other than those she had seen in the fashionable magazines. He didn’t notice, as he could not have been more attentive, which helped Florentyna relax. Once more, they were the last to leave, and he drove her back to her car. He kissed her gently on the lips.
“Would you like to come to lunch at Radcliffe tomorrow?”
“I can’t,” he said. “I have a paper to finish in the morning, and I’m not sure I can complete it before two o’clock. You couldn’t bear joining me for tea?”