AN: Nope, your eyes are NOT deceiving you, this is entitled Chapter 3! And, there's currently no Chapter 2. I'm a bit stuck on how to transition into the "Meryton Assembly," but I didn't want to leave any eager readers waiting, so I'm going ahead and posting the two chapters that I have. I will keep working on the preceding chapter and post it as soon as I can. :o) In the meantime, happy reading!
Petit fours, curried mangos encased in sugar sculptures, rich patés, shrimp and avocado ceviche served in endive—"Remember girls, it's pronounced 'ON-DEEV'." Guess that culture lesson came in handy, Sam chortled. Could they fit more pretension on a plate? She, somewhat judgmentally, but also quite hungrily surveyed the depth and breadth of the extravagant and obviously supercilious spread that the university had concocted in honor of the Bingley Corporation and their very extravagant, and some might say, supercilious endowment for the new library and modern sculpture garden. She loved abstract art as much as the next person, but a sculpture garden? At a traditional New England women's college? That just didn't strike the picturesque vibe that overwhelmed her every time she set foot on her beloved Hertford College campus. Modern art had always seemed cold and industrial to her, completely the opposite of the warmth and comfort her environment usually radiated. But alas, what did she know? Not two weeks ago she'd been lounging in this very dining hall eating a delicious supper of Eggo waffles with peanut butter and bananas and drinking cold, unfancy coffee. How quickly transformations could occur.
Despite all her mental, and sometimes verbal grumbling about the affectation of it all, Sam was not about to let good food go to waste. She eagerly sampled all of the delicacies except the pates—she'd had a traumatizing encounter with goose liver back in the winter of 2009 that, very much like that pate itself, had started out smoothly and quickly turned brown and mushy. And, because she was distracted (ergo "horrified") by the brownish gray goop in the Waterford crystal bowl, she didn't have a chance to flee before she was cornered by a middle-aged man in a gray blazer with elbow patches and granny glasses on the tip of his nose.
"Oh, Professor Higgins. It's so good to see you again." She was really laying it on thick, but she didn't think Higgledy Piggledy would notice. "I'm sorry that I missed your lecture last term on 'The Leading Lipstick Indicator.' My dad said that everyone in the English department really raved about your economic insights."
"Oh, that's quite alright Samantha. I know that you were sufficiently occupied what with graduation, job applications, and that probing tell-all about Chancellor Clemons' wife. To think, we had a French 'prostitute' in our midst and it escaped all our notice! I know I'll certainly be paying more attention at the next faculty mixer." With that not so subtle comment, Higgledy guffawed and gave her a wink and chuck on the arm. "Say, while I've got you here, let's say we recap that lecture. There really is a compelling connection between lipstick and terrorism, you know."
And so went the next 10 minutes of her life. Thank goodness she had canapés and luscious desserts to occupy her mouth or she'd be liable to say something regrettable. And really, under any other circumstances, Sam would have been riveted to hear about the links between lipstick sales in the US and the 9/11 attacks, but when the words spouted from his lips, all she heard was: "Higgledy Piggledy, My black hen, She lays eggs For gentlemen; Sometimes nine, And sometimes ten, Higgledy Piggledy, My black hen!" Really, it wasn't her fault. She'd known the man since infancy. The hallmark of growing up with a college professor as a parent—lots of bizarre "uncles and aunts". Finally, through the haze of nursery rhymes and L'Oreal Infallible Ravishing Red, Sam spotted Lotti headed in her direction.
"Oh Samantha, there you are." Lotti smiled genuinely and embraced her friend European style. As she enacted the cheek to cheek brush, Sam whispered in her ear: "Thank God! I almost VanGoghed myself there."
Out loud she said, "Hi! Professor Higgins, I'd like you to meet my dear friend Charlotte Lucas." The two shook hands cordially and Charlotte replied in kind.
"It's so good to finally meet you Professor Higgins. Samantha told me so many wonderful things about the course she took with you last fall and I know you've been featured in several tales of the Dawson girls' childhood." Apparently this was exactly the right thing to say because Higgledy Piggledy—she really couldn't help it!—had finally stopped talking about Leonard Lauder and consumer indulgence.
"Likewise young lady. Since you're such a friend of Samantha's, I'm surprised we haven't met more frequently."
"I am as well, but Samantha is a few years younger than me and I went away to Boston for both undergrad and law school."
"Haha, Beantown. Yes, I know it well. There's a truly divine coffee cart on Harvard Square. Do you know it?" Sam could see this spiraling out of control again and opted to curtail the whole scheme by giving Lotti the sideways nod and fake cough combo.
"Yes, it's quite lovely. And, I've thoroughly enjoyed my time in Boston. While I'd love to stay and chat, unfortunately I have to steal Samantha away. Her father found us a table and I don't want him to think we've gone amiss." And so, with the poise of a Disney princess, Lotti had guaranteed them safe passage away from Professor Higgins (that took real effort!) and towards better company and conversation.
The girls moseyed arm in arm around the guests crowding the elaborately decorated mahogany room. Their bond was one built on years and years of make-believe, slumber parties, summer bike rides, apple picking, trips to the library, storytelling, and, eventually, boy gazing. Although Lotti was indeed 25, a full three years older than Sam's 22, they'd always been kindred spirits, and neighbors, so the age difference had been null and void.
"You really are the best Lotti. Thank heaven you came home for this little shindig or I'd be left to fend for myself. The whole town's turned up, granted half of the citizenry teaches here, so it was sort of mandatory," she chuckled quietly, "but I haven't seen head nor tail of Becca since we got here."
"Well, we both knew she'd be quite popular." Lotti smiled pleasantly and let her friend continue.
"I know. Whether she wanted to be or not, right?! Mom grabbed her arm the minute we stepped inside and sprinted off like a running back towards that pool of Armani over there. They haven't emerged since."
"Your sister is frighteningly attractive. I'm not remotely surprised that the gentlemen find her entertaining and appealing. Add to that that your mother would die to see her married by 25, and it seems this scenario is really highly predictable."
"True. Well, since Becca's 24 right now, the clock is clearly a-ticking. Hmpf. God, that's putting it mildly, isn't it? Mom would forgo mani-pedis for a year just to see Becca married, but to see her married to one of those Hugo Boss ads over there…she'd burn her Manolo Blahniks…all of them!" As she spoke, Sam's face became more and more expressive, her eyes brightening and her hands gesturing wildly. "It's like feminism never even happened! Half the time living in that household is like traveling back to 1813: mom squawking about boyfriends and husbands and the joys of traditional womanhood, dad puttering around his study into the wee hours of the morning. The only exception is Catie and Lydia's perpetual campaign of sluttiness—'Who can wear more eye makeup and less clothing? Find out on next week's episode of Teen Whore: Massachusetts!' At least I've got Meredith to mentor. She's completely backward, but she might be salvageable."
Lotti laughed good-naturedly at her friend. Sam had always had a plethora of personality, which is why their friendship had been so successful. Lotti's calm, practical demeanor was the perfect balance to Sam's exuberant, active disposition. In fact, in Sam's mind the two young women really could not be separated; they were simply extensions of one another: Elinor and Marianne molded into one being.
"Lotti, you think I'm kidding, but I couldn't be more serious. Sometimes I think my parents were part of some elaborate baby switching scheme when I was born. I mean, something about this family portrait is obviously distorted. Practically surrealist when you think about it." Only the glimmer in Sam's eyes relayed the irony she'd intended in that statement. The rest of her face and tone bore the serious, stoic quality of British wit well delivered.
"Well, you clearly are an alien lifeform. I've known that for years, but I didn't want to say anything just in case that sent you into 'annihilate humanity' mode." Lotti smirked at Sam who couldn't help but grin in return.
"Hey, you may not be far off there. We just better hope my trigger phrase isn't something stuffy like, 'Do you prefer neoclassical or post-modernist art?' because with this crowd I can almost guarantee a massacre." At that the girls' conversation dissolved into youthful giggles and other more colorful subjects.
Note: **Leading Lipstick Indicator is actually a legit economic theory, lol. Check it out here: . /zportal/cs/ContentServer?pagename=GroupSite/GSArticle/GSArticlePrintable&cid=1267999269471. Also, so is the nursery rhyme Higgledy Piggledy: . .**
