Chicago Circle Campus, August 1969 (Six Years Later)
I looked at the clock for perhaps the twentieth time in the past ten minutes. My appointment had been for three o’clock, and my shift at Bernie’s began at four. They were running forty minutes behind. I could count on Candy to make my excuses. The real pain would be missing my familiar early-bird customers, mostly elderly men and a few retired couples. Many tipped me generously. One had been so brash as to say, “Big tits, big tip, Rosie.” He laughed when I scolded him, and left a two-dollar tip for a meal that cost only three dollars. Customers like that needed coddling.
For now, I sat with eight other people on hard oak chairs in a stuffy waiting room. Most of the others stared into space, but one, a handsome, athletic-looking boy, boldly looked me up and down. A secretary, with a face that had never, ever smiled, sat at a desk, guarding the row of four inner offices. A plaque on her desk identified her as A. Zweig; the absence of a wedding ring further refined her name to Miss Zweig. From time to time, a young man or woman would leave one of the offices, bearing a folder full of papers, and the Dragon Lady would call out another name.
“Nathan Rosen, see Dr. Russell in Room Two,” said Miss Zweig. The handsome boy stood up, stretched, and glanced at my legs one last time before going into the second office.
A moment later, another young man left the fourth office. Miss Zweig watched him over her glasses as he departed. She looked at me and said, “RoseAnn Perez, Dr. Warburton in Room Four.”
I got to my feet, checking my reflection in a glassed painting on the wall to be sure my hair was still under control. Most of the eyes in the room followed me, perhaps because I was older than the others, perhaps because I was by several inches the tallest person in the room.
Room Four was a cramped, messy office with a beaten oak desk and more hard chairs. A freckled, sandy-haired man, younger than I expected, sat behind the desk. When he saw me, his eyes widened briefly. They were blue, but a soft blue, not at all like Mike’s.
This late in the day, I assumed he’d be so tired that he’d no longer be able to tell one student from another. To my surprise, he jumped up and rushed around his desk, holding the chair while I seated myself. He closed the door and returned to his swivel chair, leaving behind a faint whiff of cologne.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. They schedule these appointments much too close together. I’m Dr. Craig Warburton.” He glanced at the open folder in front of him “And you’re Miss RoseAnn Perez. Right?” he said. He pointed at the wedding ring on my left hand. “Is it Miss or Mrs?”
It was an intrusive question, but perhaps it was important that he know. “I call myself ‘Miss Perez’ now, sir. I’ve been divorced six months.”
He grunted, as if that information was of no use to him, which, of course, it wasn’t.
I caved in to the urge to explain anyway. “The ring is to ward off evil spirits.”
He laughed, an explosive guffaw that I didn’t expect from him. When the echo of the laugh faded, he said, “You said here that you want to enroll in physics and math. Is that still your plan?”
“Sure. I’ve always been good in math.”
“But it seems that you’re going to need some kind of grant or loan to get through four years of college.”
“Yes, gaziantep rus escort sir. I was hoping to apply for a student loan, or a scholarship of some kind.”
He leaned back in his chair. “And you plan to keep a full-time job while you’re taking a full load of courses? Do you understand how much time physics and math courses will take?”
“I think I can do it. Others have.”
He drummed his pencil point on the desk, seeming to be lost in thought for a moment. “Have you ever considered engineering?”
“Engineering?” I shook my head. “I can’t say I have. Isn’t it more of a man’s profession?”
“So far, yes. But your test scores indicate a strong sense of spatial orientation and well-developed analytic abilities. You have a particular aptitude for engineering, especially in the mechanical and electrical areas. Does that surprise you?”
I shook my head, slowly. “Not really, sir. I’ve repaired my own car several times, and while I was married, I did repairs around the trailer—ah, house. I even built a laundry room with my own hands, plumbing, electrical, the works.” Because my lazy-ass drunk of a husband wouldn’t lift a finger himself.
“I’ll tell you why it matters, especially to someone in your position. The professional societies are alarmed at the small number of engineering graduates. A lot of students are being sent to Viet Nam. When they come back, many never return to class. Even the ones that do, there’s some that can’t function in school or in a regular job any more—drug problems, combat fatigue, problems with authority, and such. After so many years of war, there’s a serious shortage of engineers.
“Besides that, there’s the simple matter of economics. A lot of talent is going to waste because women aren’t going into engineering. So some of the professional societies have funded scholarships specifically to support women going into engineering professions.”
I was confused. My half-baked plan to be a high school science teacher was suddenly in a tailspin. An engineer? How would I look, wielding a slide rule, dressed in a hardhat and steel-toed boots?
“Hardly any women have applied. If you were to change your mind and go into engineering, with your scores you’d be a shoo-in for one of these scholarships. It’s a full ride, four years, as long as you keep up your grades. And as long as you stay out of trouble, of course.” He laughed at this last, as if a woman my age was far too smart to screw up her life. As if.
“I’m older than most of the students here.” I said.
“That’s a plus. You’re five years older than the average freshman. Five years more mature and that much more likely to succeed.”
I thought to myself, the course of my life can change for the better, right here in this cluttered little room. Dr. Warburton’s simple proposal had changed my thinking from a vague desire to learn some marketable skills to a sense of purpose and direction.
“Sure,” I said, more flippantly than the occasion demanded. “Why not? If the world wants women engineers, I’ll be one.”
He smiled happily, as if I were his own child finally making a sensible decision, and handed me a brochure on the scholarship program. I signed all the necessary papers to change my course elections and to apply for the scholarship, and shook hands with Dr. Warburton. Both of us sustained the handshake longer than normal. I looked into his blue, blue eyes.
There was something unexpected there, something decidedly unprofessional.
It wasn’t lust. It was more like the wide-eyed look of the starving children in Unicef ads. Hunger? Was it hunger?
I shook myself to break the spell. “Thank you for all the help,” I said at last, pulling my hand free.
“I’ll be watching your performance, but I know you won’t disappoint me. Expect a call from me within the week. But come back and see me anytime. It’s my job and my pleasure.”
* * *
I caught the Blue Line train on Halstead, transferred to the Brown Line, and finally rushed into Bernie’s Grill at quarter past five. It was already crowded and warm. Heads turned, but I was used to that. Some regulars smiled and waved. In the back room, Candy caught up with me, tossing my logo-front tee shirt and apron to me as I stuffed my purse into my locker.
“Bernie’s not happy, but you’re here just in time. There’s three tables in your section waiting to give their orders.”
Three minutes after arriving, I was out on the floor, taking deep breaths to calm myself as I carried a pot of coffee to the first table. I filled cups, and ended at the table of a graying man I knew only as ‘Jeff’.
“Afternoon, Babe,” he said, with his half-friendly, half-leering smile. “I told Candy I’d wait ’til you got here.”
“I’m going to college, Jeff. I had to go and sign up.”
“College? Good for you, but does that mean we won’t see you around any more?”
“Oh, I’ll be around, all right. I’ll need the money more than ever. What’ll you have?”
I took his order, the soup-and-half-sandwich special. Soon I was fully in the zone, my thinking brain on idle, while I took orders, carried food, and bantered with the customers. Some men made a point of sitting in my section, and I liked to give them an extra wiggle to my hips. Same when I received a bigger tip than usual. Nine o’clock arrived before I knew it.
As the busboy waited with his mop and bucket to do the floor, Candy and I, along with the other two girls, cleaned and set the tables for morning.
“So how did it go?” she asked.
“I spent a lot of time waiting in lines and front offices.”
“Well, you should only have to do that once, right?”
“I met a guy.”
Candy stopped wiping flatware and stood up straight. “The girl who was done with men? You met a guy?”
“Well, to him, I’m just another student, maybe a little older than the usual. But he’s got the most amazing blue eyes.”
“Mike had blue eyes. You thought his eyes were amazing, too.”
“I’ve put all that behind me. This guy was different. There was something behind his eyes, like he needed someone…”
“Vulnerable, you mean?”
“I guess. I mean, Mike always had a challenge in his eyes, like he was ready to fight. Other men were scared of him. I thought that was sexy. Until I married him.”
“Rosie, you’re lonely and horny. Every guy is going to look like a sex god, even some clerk in a college office.”
“He was a professor, not just a clerk. And I’ve had lots of guys come on to me over the past year. This guy is different. He makes me think of Don Whitten.”
“And if he’s not like Don, if he’s like Mike, you’re just going to end up in a worse mess than ever.”
We finished up and walked back to the apartment we shared. Candy preferred walking with me. The streets made her nervous at night, and she thought my height would discourage would-be attackers. I wasn’t so sure, but it’s true that I’d never been seriously bothered since working at Bernie’s, whereas most of the girls had been at least harassed on their way home. One girl had been mugged only two weeks before at a bus stop near the restaurant.
Just in case my physical size didn’t work, I carried an old prescription vial filled with hot chili pepper in my purse, along with a cotton sock containing a ball of lead fishing weights. Back in Bitumen, these were standard equipment for girls who didn’t want to be gang-raped by drunken farm boys.
We got ready for bed, and Candy crawled in with me. We were both resolutely heterosexual, but the habit had started in the cold weather and didn’t end when summer came. She, like me, hadn’t been divorced very long. Like me, she missed having a warm body next to her at night. One night in the winter, after a long discussion of our former sex lives over a bottle of cheap whiskey, we’d masturbated one another to orgasm. Neither of us spoke of it afterward and it never happened again.
A friend like Candy was a treasure.
“Will you get married again?” she whispered in the dark.
“I think so, but it’s not tops on my list. But I do need a man.”
“So you’re going to go after that one you met at the college?”
I chuckled. “I’d like to try him out, but I imagine he’s married or already hooked up. He might even be queer, for all I know. I just met him, and all we talked about was my plans for college. But he is trying to get me a scholarship. He thinks I can qualify. But he had this look, like I was getting to him.”
She laughed. “Do you think he has a brother for me?”
* * *
Two days later, I was rousing myself from sleep when the phone rang. It was Dr. Warburton.
“I just got a call back from the Institute of Engineering. They gave your application preliminary approval, but they need a written essay from you.”
“Essay?” I muttered, still trying to come fully awake.
“They want you to write five hundred words on why you want to be an engineer. They need it by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? How can I do that? I’m due into work in two hours and I don’t get off until nine p.m.”
“Take the day off. This is too important.”
“Dr. Warburton, I’m already covering someone else’s shift. I need the job worse than I need the scholarship.”
The line was silent for a long moment. “What if I met you after work? I’ll help you write it. I know what they want to hear.”
“You won’t want to do that after a whole day’s work.”
“The time of day doesn’t matter to me. My job is helping students get ahead. If you win that scholarship, it’s a big feather in my cap. Big brownie points for me.”
“Should I come to the campus?” I did not look forward to a ride on the El late at night.
“No. Everything’s closed up at night until the semester begins. Where do you work?”
I gave him the address.
“Bernie’s? Down Addison from Wrigley Field? I know the place. I’m a big Cubs fan so I’m often in the area. But won’t they be closing when your shift ends?”
“I can sweet talk my boss into letting us stay after hours. It’ll be empty and quiet.” I realized what I’d just talked myself into. Alone in a dark and empty restaurant with Dr. Warburton? A little thrill ran up my spine.