ACADEMIC OVERTURES

Chapter One

Starting over again, this time in someone else’s house. Would it make any difference that there was usually another adult around most of the time?
 
Lola Millard walked slowly down the winding staircase, stopping to enjoy a gilt-framed pastoral image of a mother holding an infant. How lovely, how peaceful, she thought, remembering back to her three children’s babyhoods and the hopes she had then.  At each birth it had seemed things would be different, but eventually the  sad and ugly realities . . .

But that was then, this was now, and she would survive, as she had always done. She looked at her reflection in the glass,  and, satisfied that everything was in place, continued down the stairs and through the mansion that served as the university president’s home and a venue for elegant and select university functions. She and her husband Jack, who’d just begun the presidency, one he’d hoped for during two and a half less than spectacular decades in academia, had spent two days settling in. And it had been a mostly peaceful two days.

She was satisfied overall with most of the arrangements, but she wanted to have one more look at her baby grand piano. The movers had placed it in the formal parlor, but then, at Jack’s insistence, had moved it to a smaller, more informal room next door. It was further away from his study, he’d explained, less likely to distract him when he worked in the evenings.

The morning sun was pouring through the large east windows, and she wondered if she should draw the drapes to protect the furniture, or whether the housekeeper would mind. Would she ever get used to living in someone else’s house?

She felt more comfortable in the cozy study off the breakfast room. An ideal location for her computer and bookshelves, it was light and friendly, and looked out over well-tended paths and flower gardens.  Roses! She loved roses but had never been in a place long enough to see rose bushes mature the way these had. And so many! She’d have bouquets all over the house, if Jack would let her.

Being a university president’s wife would have its comforts, perhaps. But there was that nagging question. In a town this small, and in a house over-staffed for just the two of them, what would she do with her time? The three children were all launched and away at college. Jack had “promised,” or decreed, whatever seemed most appropriate in various settings, that she would not be a “two-fer,” a president’s wife expected to serve the campus community in a non-paid position of support to her husband. Was he, she wondered, also afraid she’d not measure up in some way? Or that someone would remark on her scrapes and bruises?

Lola remembered how Jack had resisted her finishing her degree. The Harvard credits were still good, she had learned, and with one more year of coursework she could have her college degree. But he’d always refused to consider it – responsibilities with the children, then the possible embarrassment of his wife being an older student on a campus where he was working. Or, she often thought, it was almost as if he were afraid that bruises would show, or that she’d talk too freely to someone, or become too independent. Then, finally, in Tulsa, he relented and she got the degree, though he had not agreed on her walking in graduation ceremonies.

Maybe she could finally take up painting, a lifelong ambition that had so far produced only what Jack had described as “a bit of amateur work,” while the children were growing up. Easels, brushes and paints were still in boxes from earlier moves. It had been easier to just put them aside and try to forget about his remarks.

She could find a piano teacher, maybe someone from the music faculty, and follow that dream. Maybe if she practiced while he was out of the house he wouldn’t be annoyed by her mistakes and wouldn’t hit her when she played too loud. Why else had he bought her the piano?

Or she could resume work as a typist-editor, having worked on Jack’s masters and doctoral theses and his few scholarly publications and then moving on to paid typing for graduate students. She’d had plenty of work, especially editing manuscripts for international students whose English needed lots of work to get them acceptable as theses and dissertations.

Then too, she could just be a professional volunteer, and become known in the community as a doer of good works. And, of course, people would invite her to participate, because she was the wife of Wilmere University’s president, wouldn’t they?

Which option would Jack allow? Which would he belittle, reminding her once again that she had been an affirmative action low-income kid admitted to Harvard, yes for her brains but also to balance the student population. She’d never felt comfortable socializing, but when he met her on a ski trip he suggested they “get to know each other.” She, the naïve undergrad from Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, he the Harvard doctoral student from Wellfleet, Massachusetts.

They’d begun an uncertain, on-and-off relationship, meeting infrequently at Shay’s Pub in Cambridge. He was a charming and able conversationalist, told funny and sometimes off-color jokes that both surprised and amused her.  He surprised her by inviting her to the party he threw to celebrate  passing his dissertation defense, but pretty much ignored her, flirting with his fellow doctoral students and leaving with a woman he introduced as his “main girl.”  And then a few weeks later  found her in the Coop, the Harvard campus bookstore, and told her that his parents were planning a big celebration for him in Wellfleet.  .

“But I don’t know your family. I won’t know anybody there.” She felt so alone, so vulnerable. She was pretty enough, a sub-editor of one of the Harvard literary magazines, and someone he could always count on for an adoring and adorable smile.

“Oh, please!! Stop the poor-me stuff. You’ll know me. And I’ll know you.”

“But won’t your parents be expecting Jessica Houghton? Isn’t that the girl you go out with? And won’t they wonder why I’m there? I mean, we don’t really know each other that well.”

“Jessica is old news. She informed me that she has decided to start a ‘fresh relationship,’ (the finger italics he often used),  and my parents’d wonder why I am dateless for the big weekend.”  He had expected her to be flattered at the invitation and  he’d pretty well run out of acceptable options. Lola was a pretty girl and she had good manners. She’d make a good weekend date.

 “Let’s go over to Shay’s, get a drink and talk about it. I’ll bet I can convince you!”

They found a table and enjoyed the Irish musicians playing a session. She liked the music, he thought it was “a little corny.” A few beers later he walked her home, to the door and then inside the tiny efficiency apartment. The goodnight kiss was sweet, then warm, then passionate. His hands moved over her body, and she moaned softly as he reached behind and unsnapped her bra, then knelt and began kissing and sucking her breasts.

“Oh, Jack,” she kept repeating. “Oh, Jack, oh, no.” And when he picked her up and carried her across the tiny studio apartment to her bed she almost screamed but he put his hand over her mouth.

“Shh, shh, it’s OK. It won’t hurt. You’ll see.” He caressed her breasts, and moved his hands slowly down her body, enjoying her reactions almost as much as his own. Then, as she began whispering, “Oh Jack, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes,”  he stopped. “Enough for now. There’ll be lots more later.” And he walked out.

She’d gone to bed in tears, confused, embarrassed, convinced that she would never see him again. No one had ever loved her before. No one had made her feel so full, so warm, so alive, even for such a short time. What had she done wrong?

But there were more nights, sweeter each time, and then the weekend’s celebrations, which she spent in a sweet little guest cottage on the Millard family estate, thrilling to the sounds and smells of Cape Cod and growing increasingly in love with Dr. Jack Millard, Jr. She liked the sound of it. To Jack’s continued surprise, he found her charming, warm, and most willing, not the naïve and needy little thing he’d first thought. And it didn’t cost him anything.

The party ended, the eminent and not-so-eminent guests left, and the elder Millards gave instructions to the cleanup crews and went to bed.  Jack and Lola spent the night making love on the beach and in her cottage. Then, enhanced by several bottles of good wine, he surprised himself and Lola by proposing.

 She felt both relieved and happy. She hadn’t known how to tell him about her pregnancy, and was torn about a decision she feared she’d have to make – tell him and scare him away or find someone to  help her end it, or just disappear and take her chances.  She knew her parents would be disappointed in her, maybe even tell her not to come home if she decided to  continue the pregnancy. Most of all she feared both the cold look in Jack’s deep blue eyes and the words of rejection that she’d certainly hear.

Before she could answer, Jack said, “Let’s talk about this tomorrow. I’m really sloshed.” And he turned over and went to sleep. But she cried, muffling the sounds in the pillow and hoping he didn’t hear her.

And in the morning she was jolted awake by the urgent need to vomit and dashed into the bathroom. Only after rinsing her mouth and washing her face did she notice that Jack and his clothes were gone. There was a scrawled note on the night table: “Have to see Dad. Later, OK?”

Dr. Jack Millard, Sr., proud of his own heritage and concerned about his son’s future, had summoned him and was wondering aloud about the weekend guest. It was no surprise that Jack had spent the night with Lola.  But Millard, Sr., had more important concerns. “What on earth do you plan to do with her?” he demanded, from his deep easy chair in the dark but elegant study.

“I’m thinking of marrying her.”

“You’re what! I know you’re sleeping with her, and I presume you’re taking precautions. But marry her? What she could add to the family? Granted she’s attractive enough, in her own way. But no degree yet, no real pedigree, no standing, no job skills to speak of. What’s the family like?”

He ignored the last question, because he’d never paid attention when Lola talked about them. “Dad, she will be loyal, faithful and, I hope fruitful. What more can I ask?”

“Well, for God’s sake, junior, do you at least love her?”

“I guess so. Dad, it’s my life. I’ve told you that I have a few interviews for teaching jobs line up. I think Beloit will come through. With her Harvard experience Lola can easily get a job somewhere to help pay the bills and we’ll do fine.” He did not to need family money, and was determined to let his father know that.

“Answer my question. Do you love her?” 

“Dad, Lola’s not Jessica Houghton, I know, but she’s a lot nicer than Jessica and most of the other girls I’ve dated. And I know she loves me. That’s at least a start.”

Lola had come to the house and was helping herself to the buffet breakfast when she heard their raised voices. She felt her heart stop for a minute. What was she getting into? Would it last? She stifled a sob, put down her plate and walked outside, and half-ran back to the cottage, where she broke down and cried. 

When Jack came in and saw her puffy eyes and red nose he knew she’d overheard. “Lola, honey, don’t let Dad get to you. He’s old school and obsessed about ‘breeding,’ and ‘status’ and all that. We’re different. We’ll do just fine. Trust me.” And he smiled, his dazzling smile lighting up his face and shining through his deep blue eyes. “Last night was good, the whole past month has been good, just like it’ll be every night from now on.”

“Jack, I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what? Lola, are you sure? I mean, this could really mess things up. When did you find out?”

“Friday, before we left. I didn’t feel well and I went to the doctor. She said it’s still very early and. . . .”

antonia

He remembered his father’s anger when he had to pay a for pretty coed’s abortion during Jack’s junior year. And once again during his doctoral program. He thought of Julie and Antonia, who had said much the same thing, and of how relieved he’d felt after things had been “taken care of.” He remembered his pledge to his father, that no such problems would ever again be brought to him.

They talked, walked on the beach, each feeling out the other, each wondering what the other was really thinking, probing for hints, feeling almost like strangers. What would his parents think? What were her parents like? How would they keep things quiet? Would her parents make fun of her, teasing about going to Harvard only to get her MRS degree?

She stopped, looked at him. “Jack, I heard you your father ask if you loved me. Do you? I need to know.”

Lola, you know I care for you. I realize you’re not completely comfortable with our kind of people but you can learn. And I wouldn’t be comfortable with an abortion. Would you?” 

“Jack, I know I love you. But do you love me? Or is this an honor marriage? I know what we said last night. How do you feel today?”

He grimaced, and she saw him start to clench his fists, as if he were getting ready to strike her. Then his shoulders relaxed and he smiled at her. “Marry me, Lola. We can make things work, I promise. My parents will be okay. You’ll get to know them better and they’ll get to know you. And they’ll make great grandparents. What do you say?”

That was as much as she would get, and she took his hands, looked in his eyes and said, as bravely as she could, “I love you, Jack,” and reached up to kiss him. “I’ll make you proud of me, I know it.

“We need to talk to my family, too,” she said. “They’ll want to meet you and they’ll want to know when and where and all about our wedding plans. Let’s keep it simple, OK?” She wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret as long as possible, at least until after the wedding.

“What if we got married here? Next month?  Wellfleet is so wonderful in June. And we could keep it simple – no need to rent a place or all that other stuff.  What do you say?”

She caught his excitement, and it reassured her. She knew he wanted to make it easy for her, that he knew her family had a more limited income, and that the Millards didn’t seem to worry about money issues. She also knew that he wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret, to avoid telling his parents until he had to, to participate in the Millard public image.

“But let’s let Mother make the suggestion. She’ll want to take over, anyway. So let’s call your folks and get that over with.”

The wedding was held three weeks later in Wellfleet, with Jack’s mother arranging everything. Not quite the simple affair Jack had suggested, but it was pleasant and the Millard family knew how to be gracious. “You’re our guests,” she’d said as she welcomed Harry and Virginia Johnson, “and guests don’t work in our home. Come and enjoy yourselves.”

The two fathers hit it off, much to Lola’s surprise. Harry Johnson had come with an investment idea Millard, Sr., found very interesting. This could be a good relationship after all. But her mother was shy, intimidated by the senior Millards, both disappointed that she was mostly excluded from the planning and also relieved because she knew the event would be lovely – and paid for.  She had spent the weekend “walking on eggs” she told her husband, who laughed off her concerns. “They’re nice people, and they’ve got a great place and money to burn.  Let’em be the hosts – and just enjoy it.”