Are you in this class?
Yes.
What a break for me.
Why?
Why? Because I don't know anything about Latin and you're a genius. We're going to make beautiful music. Are you doing anything tonight?
Nothing special. Do you want to study together?
Let's go to the beach where we can be alone. We can study any time.
He was staring at her.
"Hey!...er--?" trying to think of her name.
She swallowed, trying desperately to remember, herself. "Catherine," she said quickly. "Catherine Alexander."
"Yeah. How about this place! It's terrific, isn't it?"
She tried to put eagerness in her voice to please him, agree with him, woo him. "Oh yes," she gushed, "it's the most--"
He was looking at a stunning blond girl waiting at the door for him. "See you," he said, and moved away to join the girl.
And that was the end of the Cinderella and Prince Charming story, she thought. They lived happily ever after, he in his harem and she in a windswept cave in Tibet.
From time to time Catherine would see Ron walking along the campus, always with a different girl and sometimes two or three. My God, doesn't he ever get tired? she wondered. She still had visions that one day he would come to her for help in Latin, but he never spoke to her again.
At night lying in her lonely bed, Catherine would think about all the other girls making love to their boyfriends, and the boy who would always come to her was Ron Peterson. In her mind he would undress her and then she would slowly undress him, the way they always did it in romantic novels, taking off his shirt and gently running her fingers over his chest, then undoing his trousers and pulling down his shorts. He would pick her up and carry her toward the bed. At that point Catherine's comic sense would get the better of her and he would sprain his back and fall to the floor, moaning and groaning with pain. Idiot, she told herself, you can't even do it right in your fantasies. Maybe she should enter a nunnery. She wondered if nuns had sexual fantasies and if it was a sin for them to masturbate. She wondered if priests ever had sexual intercourse.
She was sitting in a cool, tree-shaded courtyard in a lovely old abbey outside Rome, trailing her fingers in the sun-warmed water of an ancient fish pond. The gate opened, and a tall priest entered the courtyard. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and a long black cassock and he looked exactly like Ron Peterson.
Ah, scusi, signorina, he murmured, / did not know I had a visitor.
Catherine quickly sprang to her feet. I shouldn't be here, she apologized. It was just so beautiful I had to sit here and drink it in.
You are most welcome. He moved toward her, his eyes dark and blazing. Mia cara...I lied to you.
Lied to me?
Yes. His eyes were boring into hers. / knew you were here because I followed you.
She felt a thrill go through her. But--but you are a priest.
Bella signorina, I am a man first and a priest afterward. He lurched forward to take her in his arms, and he stumbled on the hem of his cassock and fell into the fish pond.
Shit!
Ron Peterson came into the Roost every day after school and would take a seat at the booth in the far corner. The booth would quickly fill up with his friends and become the center of boisterous conversation. Catherine stood behind the counter near the cash register and when Ron entered, he would give her a pleasant, absent nod and move on. He never addressed her by name. He's forgotten it, Catherine mused.
But each day when he walked in, she gave him a big smile and waited for him to say hello, ask her for a date, a glass of water, her virginity, anything. She might as well have been a piece of furniture. Examining the girls in the room with complete objectivity she decided she was prettier than all but one girl, the fantastic looking Jean-Anne, the Southern blonde with whom Ron was most often seen, and she was certainly brighter than all of them put together. What in God's name then was wrong with her? Why was it that not one single boy asked her for a date? She learned the answer the next day.
She was hurrying south along the campus headed for the Roost when she saw Jean-Anne and a brunette whom she did not know, walking across the green lawn toward her.
"Well, it's Miss Big Brain," Jean-Anne said.
And Miss Big Boobs, Catherine thought enviously. Aloud she said, "That was a murderous Lit quiz, wasn't it?"