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excerpt
from Chapter One
I had given up
I, Bobbie Lamont, was only twenty-one years old and I was tired of everything. Despite drinking too much, even for my age, and smoking almost two packs of Marlboro Reds a day, I was in good health, for the most part. I had, so far, accomplished everything I had set out to do in my life. I graduated as the valedictorian of my class, the class of 1986, at Saint Augustine Academy for Girls, a private Catholic school, four years before. And I had only recently, less than three weeks before, graduated at the top of my class from Tulane University.
I didn’t have many friends. My shy personality made it difficult for me to make them. In fact, I only had three. And besides having me as their friend, my friends didn’t have anything in common. They were Billie Carver, Jordan McCullers, and Natalie Adams.
Billie had been my best friend since the first grade at St. Augustine. She was easy-going and the only reason why I ever left my house on the weekends. Our friendship puzzled most people, who couldn’t see past our differences. I was a white girl from a New Orleans high society family and she was a black girl from a middle class, blue collar family. Even our families didn’t understand why we were friends. She was my courage and I was her caution.
I became friends with Jordan when I started working as a waitress at the Café du Monde a month into my sophomore year. She was a pretty girl with shoulder long red hair and bright blue eyes. She was outgoing and friendly, with a great sense of humor and an infectious laugh. Our friendship was cemented the following summer when we were both accepted into a history program in India. We saw each other every day and spent most of our free time together, when I wasn’t in my hotel room, reading or writing in my diary.
The following summer, the summer after my junior year, I went to New York City and worked as a summer intern at Black Springs Press, a small but respected publishing company. While there, I met and became friends with Natalie, a native New Yorker and fellow intern. We bonded over our shared love for vodka tonics, smoking cigarettes on the balcony of Fay’s, our boss, office, and respect for the written word. In some ways, she reminded me of Billie.
I had accomplished many things, but in the most important part of my life, my love life, I was a failure. I was tired of getting my heart broken by guys who promised to never hurt me and then would leave me. My first boyfriend, James, broke my heart when I caught him having sex with another girl.
My next boyfriend, Malcolm Pryce, the best friend of Billie’s older brother, Willie, only told me he loved me one time, the day he left New Orleans.
I stayed single over a year after that and when I was ready to have a boyfriend again, I was reunited with Ulysses Dublin, a boy I had met on New Year’s Eve of 1985. We got along fine, for the most part, when he wasn’t canceling plans on me so he could spend time with his frat brothers. I broke up with him after returning from Panama City Beach and finding him in bed with his ex-girlfriend.
I wanted to get away that summer and applied to a summer program in India. It didn’t take me long to figure out that Professor Hertz, the one who had told me about the program, and my History professor, was attracted to me. I tried to deny it, but even Jordan could see it. On my birthday, feeling lonely because I was so far from home, I accepted his dinner invitation. My short affair with him began that night. For the next three weeks, when I wasn’t with Jordan, I was with him. A few days before I was to leave India, he called it off. I was disappointed, hoping to continue our relationship. I enjoyed spending time with him and was able to be myself for the first time with a guy. We could talk about anything and I decided then that I wouldn’t date another guy my age. I wanted to date a professor.
From the moment I saw him, I wanted him. He was my English professor and even though he dressed more like a rock star than a college professor, he had a reputation of being immune to flirting. Many girls had tried to flirt with him, either to try to convince him to change their grade or to get an extension on a paper. None had success, but I knew I would get to him.
At the end of the first day, I approached him. I found out that he was friends with Professor Hertz and had heard all about me. Encouraged, I gave him my phone number. A few days later, he called me and our affair started. Over the next two years, on and off, we dated. I fell in love with him and believed that he loved me too. I even convinced myself that he would leave his wife when I graduated and left Tulane. On graduation night, after receiving my diploma, I saw him for the last time. It wasn’t the beginning of a new phase of our relationship, but the end instead.
from Chapter One
I had given up
I, Bobbie Lamont, was only twenty-one years old and I was tired of everything. Despite drinking too much, even for my age, and smoking almost two packs of Marlboro Reds a day, I was in good health, for the most part. I had, so far, accomplished everything I had set out to do in my life. I graduated as the valedictorian of my class, the class of 1986, at Saint Augustine Academy for Girls, a private Catholic school, four years before. And I had only recently, less than three weeks before, graduated at the top of my class from Tulane University.
I didn’t have many friends. My shy personality made it difficult for me to make them. In fact, I only had three. And besides having me as their friend, my friends didn’t have anything in common. They were Billie Carver, Jordan McCullers, and Natalie Adams.
Billie had been my best friend since the first grade at St. Augustine. She was easy-going and the only reason why I ever left my house on the weekends. Our friendship puzzled most people, who couldn’t see past our differences. I was a white girl from a New Orleans high society family and she was a black girl from a middle class, blue collar family. Even our families didn’t understand why we were friends. She was my courage and I was her caution.
I became friends with Jordan when I started working as a waitress at the Café du Monde a month into my sophomore year. She was a pretty girl with shoulder long red hair and bright blue eyes. She was outgoing and friendly, with a great sense of humor and an infectious laugh. Our friendship was cemented the following summer when we were both accepted into a history program in India. We saw each other every day and spent most of our free time together, when I wasn’t in my hotel room, reading or writing in my diary.
The following summer, the summer after my junior year, I went to New York City and worked as a summer intern at Black Springs Press, a small but respected publishing company. While there, I met and became friends with Natalie, a native New Yorker and fellow intern. We bonded over our shared love for vodka tonics, smoking cigarettes on the balcony of Fay’s, our boss, office, and respect for the written word. In some ways, she reminded me of Billie.
I had accomplished many things, but in the most important part of my life, my love life, I was a failure. I was tired of getting my heart broken by guys who promised to never hurt me and then would leave me. My first boyfriend, James, broke my heart when I caught him having sex with another girl.
My next boyfriend, Malcolm Pryce, the best friend of Billie’s older brother, Willie, only told me he loved me one time, the day he left New Orleans.
I stayed single over a year after that and when I was ready to have a boyfriend again, I was reunited with Ulysses Dublin, a boy I had met on New Year’s Eve of 1985. We got along fine, for the most part, when he wasn’t canceling plans on me so he could spend time with his frat brothers. I broke up with him after returning from Panama City Beach and finding him in bed with his ex-girlfriend.
I wanted to get away that summer and applied to a summer program in India. It didn’t take me long to figure out that Professor Hertz, the one who had told me about the program, and my History professor, was attracted to me. I tried to deny it, but even Jordan could see it. On my birthday, feeling lonely because I was so far from home, I accepted his dinner invitation. My short affair with him began that night. For the next three weeks, when I wasn’t with Jordan, I was with him. A few days before I was to leave India, he called it off. I was disappointed, hoping to continue our relationship. I enjoyed spending time with him and was able to be myself for the first time with a guy. We could talk about anything and I decided then that I wouldn’t date another guy my age. I wanted to date a professor.
From the moment I saw him, I wanted him. He was my English professor and even though he dressed more like a rock star than a college professor, he had a reputation of being immune to flirting. Many girls had tried to flirt with him, either to try to convince him to change their grade or to get an extension on a paper. None had success, but I knew I would get to him.
At the end of the first day, I approached him. I found out that he was friends with Professor Hertz and had heard all about me. Encouraged, I gave him my phone number. A few days later, he called me and our affair started. Over the next two years, on and off, we dated. I fell in love with him and believed that he loved me too. I even convinced myself that he would leave his wife when I graduated and left Tulane. On graduation night, after receiving my diploma, I saw him for the last time. It wasn’t the beginning of a new phase of our relationship, but the end instead.
