The Institute

13

Around one o’clock miss Nettie called from downstairs and said: “There’s a Teddy Rodriguez here, Dr. Palmer. Says she’s from Student Aid. Shall I send her up?”

“Says she’s from Student Aid? Good God, I asked for a he.”

“Well, it looks like a she to me.”

It was a she, all right, nicely formed and very pretty, in faded denim hot pants, chopped-off short, blouse, and sandals. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Surprise, surprise!” she crowed. “I’ll bet you expected a boy. But summertime, you know. You have to take what you can get. I just happened to be there.”

“Teddy, do I know you?”

“I was in your English poetry class, Dr. Palmer. I’m the one who sat on the end, showing her beautiful legs and making eyes at you.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

“Aren’t you thrilled?”

“Well, I would be, of course, except that I’m afraid you won’t do. It’s kind of a packhorse job and—”

By this time she was inside, pointing to the suitcases which were in the hall outside by bedroom door. “Them? They’re nothing.” She skipped up the hall, grabbed them, and carried them to the alcove. “What’s in them?” she said. “Bricks?”

“Pamphlets, press releases.”

“I’m strong as a bull. Cheerleader during football season.” She cartwheeled into the living room and then came back to me, walking on her hands. “See?” she chirped gaily, getting on her feet again. “Nothing to it.”

“Then... you asked for this job.”

“It’s not the money — it’s you.”

“That’s enough about me. Now, about lunch—”

“I had lunch. But I cook, too, as well as I do handsprings. If you want me to fix you some—”

“No, I had a late breakfast.”

By then we were in the living room. She was looking at the pictures and I was wondering what to do with her, since the news conference didn’t begin until four.

“O.K.,” I said, “we’re going to have some dead air, so sit down, make yourself at home, and help yourself to those magazines. Time, Newsweek, and The New Yorker are there on the cocktail table. While you’re looking at them, I’ll be boning up for the reporters.”

She camped on one of the sofas with Time and I on the other sofa with the stuff Sam Dent’s secretary had sent me, from a friend in the Newspaper Club, on the various local reporters who covered this kind of story. I thought it would help if I could call them by name, as though I knew all about them.

Pretty soon she pitched the magazine back on the table and said: “I know what we could do. I know what would freshen dead air.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

She came over and sat in my lap and put her arms around me. “Like we could go to bed.”

“Like we could not!” I growled.

“We could, we could, we could!”

By that time she was kissing me — hot, wet, and sticky. Of course, Hortense completely possessed me by now, yet in just a few seconds I wanted this girl bad — and she knew it. There were more kisses; I don’t know how many. But at last, by using all the willpower I had, I pushed her off, stood up, and said: “You wait downstairs — if you still want the job. Wait in the lobby. When I’m ready, I’ll call Miss Nettie. Don’t come up until she tells you.”

“No, Dr. Palmer, no!”

“Yes. You have to go.”

“But why? Dr. Palmer, I’m entitled! It’s nothing new for me, that I thought it up after I got here. I fell for you right from the start, way back in September. I showed you my legs that first day when you lectured on Ann Rutledge.”

“Ann who!”

“Whoever. Hathaway, I guess it was.”

“Keep those Anns straight.”

“And you peeped at my legs, too.”

“So? They’re pretty enough.”

“And you want me now. I can tell!”

“Regardless of whether I want you or not, it can’t be!”

“But why? Dr. Palmer, I ask you: why?”

“There’s a reason, Teddy.”

“Blonde or brunette?”

“More like blonde.”

“I guess that says it.”

She pulled out one of her curls, which were a sort of dyed sorrel, looked at it for a moment, and then shook her head. Her eyes were wet. I felt compassion, deep and genuine. It seemed tragic, somehow, that I had to say no to her. I blotted her eyes with my handkerchief, while at the same time, edging her out. In the hall, when the elevator came, I kissed her once more and whispered: “O.K., I’ll be thinking of you.” When she was gone I went back inside, waited a minute, then called Miss Nettie and asked: “That girl from Student Aid — is she waiting or not?”

“She’s sitting in the lobby.”

I went into the bathroom and washed my mouth out with Listerine, to kill any smell of lipstick that might be lingering.

I sat down again, trembling. At three o’clock I picked up the suitcases and went down in the freight elevator to the parking lot entrance and carried them out to the car. After I had put them in the back, I went around to the front of the building into the lobby. There I found Teddy reading a magazine. She seemed upset that I had done my own toting.

“I wanted to do it for you,” she said. “It’s not the money. It’s you.”

“You said that already.”

I put her in the car and for the first time noticed the patches on the seat of her pants. They looked as though some sailor had sewed them on.

“Who did your patches?”

“I did,” she said. “Why?”

“Just wondering, that’s all. They’re nice, pattable patches.”

“You ought to know. You patted them.”

“So I did, so I did. Touchée.”

“What do you mean, touchée? No one got touched, I know of. Brother, what a washout. Patty cake, patty cake, pat me some more.”

“What has to be, has to be.”

When we reached the hotel parking lot I took the suitcases out for Teddy but let her carry them to the marquee where I told the doorman to take them and call a bellhop.

Conference Room A was just off the lobby. It was all set up, with the bar, buffet, and counter at one end, my service table at one side, three armchairs with their backs to the bar, mikes in front of them, and folding chairs facing them. We were the first to arrive except for a bartender polishing glasses and two girls in red trunks, boleros, and shoes, with some of the barest legs you ever saw. They were lining up bowls with dip, salad, and relish on the buffet, as well as placing platters of canapes around. They came running over to help. I introduced Teddy as “a working girl’s working girl; so if you need any help, just holler.” We all got along well. When the bellhop had taken the brochures and pamphlets out of the suitcases and left after getting his tip, Teddy and I arranged the material on the table. She had some suggestions about how to display it, all of them good.