“More figure than cult,” she told Florentyna.
Bella’s tactics for trying to win the match were later described by the Harvard Crimson as nothing short of diabolical. When the Harvard team arrived in their bus they were met by eleven amazons with hockey sticks slung over their shoulders. The fit young men were immediately whisked off for lunch. Members of the Harvard squad never normally drank a drop before a match, but as the girls, without exception, ordered beers, they felt honor-bound to join them. Most of the men managed three cans before lunch and also enjoyed the excellent wine served throughout the meal. None of the Harvard men thought to comment on Radcliffe’s generosity or to ask if they were breaking any college rules. All twenty-two ended the lunch with a glass of champagne to toast the fortunes of both colleges.
The eleven Harvard men were then escorted to their locker room, where they found another magnum of champagne awaiting them. The eleven happy ladies left them to change. When the Harvard captain led his team out onto the hockey field he was met by a crowd of over five hundred spectators and eleven strapping girls whom he had never before seen in his life. Eleven other ladies, not unknown to the captain, were finding it hard to remain awake in the stands. Harvard was down 3–0 by half time and was lucky to lose only 7–0. The Harvard Crimson might well have described Bella as a cheat, but the Boston Globe declared her to be a woman of great enterprise.
The captain of the Harvard team immediately challenged Bella to replay against the full varsity squad. “Exactly what I wanted in the first place,” she told Florentyna. Bella accepted by sending a telegram from one side of Cambridge Common to the other. It read: “Your place or mine?” Radcliffe had to arrange for several cars to transport their supporters, their ranks swelled by Harvard’s decision to put on a dance that evening after the game. Florentyna drove Bella and three other members of the team across the river in her newly acquired 1952 Oldsmobile, with hockey sticks, shin pads and evening dresses piled high in the trunk. When they arrived, they did not meet up with any of the Harvard team before they reached the playing field. This time they were greeted by a crowd of three thousand, which included President Conant of Harvard and President Jordan of Radcliffe.
Bella’s tactics again bordered on the dubious: each of her girls had clearly been instructed to play the man and not to concentrate too much on the ball. Ruthless hacking at vulnerable shins enabled them to hold Harvard to a scoreless first half.
The Radcliffe team nearly scored in the first minute of the second half, which inspired them to rise above their normal game, and it began to look as if the match might end in a draw when the Harvard center forward, a man only slightly smaller than Bella, broke through and looked poised to score. He had reached the edge of the circle when Bella came charging out of her cage and hit him flat out with a shoulder charge. That was the last he remembered of the match and he departed a few seconds later on a stretcher. Both referees blew their whistles at once and a penalty was awarded to Harvard with only a minute to go. Their left wing was selected to take the shot. The five-foot-nine, slimly built man waited for the two teams to line up. He cracked the ball sharply to the right inner, who lofted a shot straight at Bella’s chest pad. It dropped at her feet, and she clicked it to the right, where it rolled in front of the diminutive left wing. Bella charged at the slight figure, and gentle people in the crowd covered their eyes, but this time she had met her match. The left wing sidestepped deftly, leaving the Radcliffe captain spread-eagled on the ground and himself ample time to flick the ball into the back of the net. The whistle blew and Radcliffe lost 1–0.
It was the only occasion on which Florentyna had seen Bella cry, even though the crowd gave her a standing ovation as she led her team off the field. Although defeated, Bella ended up with two compensations: the U.S. Women’s Hockey Team selected her to play for her country, and she had met her future husband.
Florentyna was introduced to Claude Lamont at the reception after the match. He looked even smaller in his neat blue blazer and gray flannel trousers than he had on the field.
“Little sweetheart, isn’t he?” said Bella, patting him on the head. “Amazing goal.” Florentyna was surprised that Claude did not seem to object. All he said was “Didn’t she play a first-class game?”
Bella and Florentyna returned to their rooms at Radcliffe, where they changed for the dance. Claude accompanied both girls to the affair, which Bella compared to a cattle show as the men swarmed around her old roommate. They all wanted to dance the jitterbug with her, so Claude was dispatched to fetch enough food and drink to feed an army, which Bella disposed of while she watched her friend in a whirl of Trigère silk on the dance floor.
She first saw him sitting talking to a girl in the corner of the room while she was dancing. He must have been about six feet tall, with wavy fair hair and a tan that only proved he did not spend his winter vacations in Cambridge. As she stared, he turned toward the dance floor and their eyes met. Florentyna turned quickly away and tried to concentrate on what her partner was saying—something about America moving into the computer age and how he was going to climb on the bandwagon. When the dance ended, the talkative partner took her back to Bella. Florentyna turned to find him by her side.
“Have you had something to eat?” he asked.
“No,” she lied.
“Would you like to join my table?”
“Thank you,” she said, and left Bella and Claude discussing the relative merits of the value of wing-to-wing passing, comparing field hockey with ice hockey.
For the first few minutes neither of them spoke. He brought some food over from the buffet and then they both tried to speak at once. His name was Scott Roberts and he was majoring in history at Harvard. Florentyna had read about him in Boston’s society columns, one of the heirs to the Roberts family business and one of the most sought-after young men in America. She wished it were otherwise. What’s in a name? she said to herself as she told him hers. It didn’t seem to register.
“A pretty name for a beautiful woman,” he said. “I’m sorry we haven’t met before.” Florentyna smiled. He added, “Actually, I was at Radcliffe a few weeks ago, playing in the infamous hockey game when we lost seven-nothing.”
“You played in that match? I didn’t notice you.”
“I’m not surprised. I spent most of the time on the ground feeling sick. I had never drunk so much in my life. Bella Hellaman may look big to you when you’re sober, but she looks like a Sherman tank when you’re drunk.”
Florentyna laughed and sat happily listening to Scott tell stories of Harvard, his family and his life in Boston. For the rest of the evening she danced only with one man and when the night came to an end he accompanied her back to Radcliffe.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” Scott asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Why don’t we drive out to the country and have lunch together?”
“I’d like that.”
Florentyna and Bella spent most of that night telling each other about their respective partners.
“Do you think it matters that he’s straight out of the Social Register?”
“Not if he’s a man worth taking seriously,” replied Bella, aware of just how real Florentyna’s fears were. “I have no idea if Claude is in any social register,” she added.
The next morning, Scott Roberts and Florentyna drove out into the countryside in his smart new MG. She had never been happier in her life. They lunched in a little restaurant in Dedham which was full of people whom Scott seemed to know. Florentyna was introduced to a Lowell, a Winthrop, a Cabot and another Roberts. She was relieved to see Edward Winchester coming toward her from a corner table, leading an attractive dark-haired girl by the hand—at least, Florentyna thought, I know someone. She was astonished at how handsome and happy Edward looked and soon found out why, when he introduced his fiancée, Danielle.
“You two ought to get on famously,” said Edward.
“Why?” asked Florentyna, smiling
at the girl.
“Danielle is French and I’ve been telling her for a long time that I might have been the Dauphin but even when I declared you were a witch, you had to teach me how to pronounce socière.”
As Florentyna watched them depart hand in hand, Scott said quietly, “Je n’ai jamais pensé que je tomberais amoureux d’une sorcière.”
Florentyna chose a simple meal of Dover sole and nodded her approval of his selection of Muscadet, grateful for her knowledge of food and wine, and was surprised to find at four o’clock that they were the only two left in the restaurant, with a headwaiter hinting that the time might have come to prepare for the evening meal. When they returned to Radcliffe, Scott kissed her gently on the cheek and said he would call her tomorrow.
He phoned during lunchtime the next day to ask if she could bear to watch him play ice hockey for the junior varsity against Penn on Saturday and suggested dinner together afterward.
Florentyna accepted, masking her delight, for she couldn’t wait to see him again. It seemed the longest week in her life.
On Saturday morning she made one important decision about her weekend with Scott. She packed a small suitcase and put it in the trunk of her car before driving to the rink long before the face-off. She sat in the bleachers, waiting for Scott to arrive. For a moment she feared he might not feel the same way about her when they met for a third time, but he dispelled that fear in a moment when he waved and skated across the ice toward her.
“Bella said I can’t come home if you lose.”
“Perhaps I don’t want you to,” he said, as he glided slantingly away.
She watched the game, becoming colder and colder. Scott hardly seemed to touch the puck all afternoon, but he still managed to get slammed repeatedly into the boards. She decided that it was a stupid sport but that she would not tell him so. After the match was over, she sat in her car waiting for him to change; then another reception and at last they were on their own. He took her to Locke-Ober’s, where again he seemed to know everyone, but this time she did not recognize anybody other than those she had seen in the fashionable magazines. He didn’t notice, as he could not have been more attentive, which helped Florentyna relax. Once more, they were the last to leave, and he drove her back to her car. He kissed her gently on the lips.
“Would you like to come to lunch at Radcliffe tomorrow?”
“I can’t,” he said. “I have a paper to finish in the morning, and I’m not sure I can complete it before two o’clock. You couldn’t bear joining me for tea?”
“Of course I will, silly.”
“What a pity. If I had known I would have booked you a room in the guest quarters.”
“What a pity,” echoed Florentyna, thinking of the unopened suitcase lying in the trunk of her car.
The next day, Scott picked her up shortly after three and took her back to his rooms for tea. She smiled as he closed the door, remembering that it was still not allowed at Radcliffe. His room was considerably larger than hers and on his desk was a picture of an aristocratic, slightly severe-looking lady who could only have been his mother. As Florentyna took in the room she realized that none of the furniture belonged to Harvard. After he had given her tea they listened to America’s new singing idol, Elvis Presley, before Scott put on Frank Sinatra singing “Stranger in Paradise” and they danced, each wondering what was in the other’s mind. When they sat down on the sofa, he kissed her at first gently, then with passion. He seemed reluctant to go any further and Florentyna was both too shy and too ignorant to help him. Suddenly he placed a hand over her breast as if waiting for Florentyna’s reaction. At last his hand moved to the top of her dress and fumbled with the first button. Florentyna made no attempt to stop him as he continued with the second. Soon he was kissing her, first on the shoulder, then on her breast. Florentyna wanted him so badly that she almost made the next move herself, but quite suddenly, he stood up and took off his shirt. In response she quickly slipped out of her dress and let her shoes fall to the floor. They made their way to the bed, clumsily trying to remove what was left of each other’s clothing. For a moment they stared at each other before climbing onto the bed. To her surprise the pleasure of making love seemed to be over in seconds.
“I’m sorry, I was awful,” said Florentyna.
“No, no, it was me.” He paused. “I might as well admit it, that was my first time.”
“Not you as well?” she said, and they both burst out laughing.
They lay in each other’s arms for the rest of the evening and made love twice more, each time with greater pleasure and confidence. When Florentyna woke in the morning, cramped and rather tired but exultantly happy, she felt instinctively they would spend the rest of their lives together. For the remainder of that term they saw each other every weekend, and sometimes during the week as well.
In the spring vacation, they met secretly in New York, and Florentyna spent the happiest three days she could remember. On the Waterfront, Limelight and, on Broadway, South Pacific preceded the “21” Club, Sardi’s and even the Oak Room at the Plaza. During the day they shopped, visited the Frick and walked through the park. When she returned home at night, her arms were laden with presents, which ended up by the side of her bed.
The spring term was idyllic and they were rarely out of each other’s company. As it drew to a close, Scott invited Florentyna to spend a week in Marblehead to meet his parents.
“I know they’ll love you,” he said as he put her on the train to Chicago.
“I hope so,” she replied.
Florentyna spent hours telling her mother how wonderful Scott was and how much she was bound to love him. Zaphia was delighted to see her daughter so happy and genuinely looked forward to meeting Scott’s parents. She prayed Florentyna had found someone with whom she could spend the rest of her life, and had not made an impulsive decision that she would later regret. Florentyna selected yards of different-colored silks from Marshall Field’s and passed the evenings designing a dress she felt certain would capture the heart of Scott’s mother.
The letter came on a Monday, and Florentyna immediately recognized Scott’s handwriting. She tore the envelope open in happy anticipation, but it contained only a short note saying that because of a change in his family plans he would have to postpone her trip to Marblehead. Florentyna read the letter again and again, looking for some hidden message. Remembering only how happily they had parted, she decided to call his home.
“The Roberts residence,” said a voice that sounded like the butler’s.
“May I speak to Mr. Scott Roberts?” Florentyna could hear her voice quiver as she said his name.
“Who is calling him, ma’am?”
“Florentyna Rosnovski.”
“I’ll see if he’s in, ma’am.”
Florentyna clutched on to the phone and waited impatiently for Scott’s reassuring voice.
“He’s not at home at the moment, ma’am, but I will leave a message saying that you called.”
Florentyna didn’t believe him and an hour later called again.
The voice said, “He is still not back, ma’am,” so she waited until eight that evening, when the same voice announced that he was at dinner.
“Then please tell him I’m calling.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The voice returned a few moments later and said perceptibly less politely, “He cannot be disturbed.”
“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you’ve told him who it is.”
“Madam, I can assure you—” Another voice came on the line, a lady’s, with the ring of habitual authority.
“Who is this calling?”
“My name is Florentyna Rosnovski. I was hoping to speak to Scott as—”
“Miss Ros-en-ovski, Scott is having dinner with his fiancée at the moment and cannot be disturbed.”
“His fiancée?” whispered Florentyna, her nails drawing blood from the palm of her hand.
“Yes, Miss Ros-en-ovski.” The phone w
ent dead. It took several seconds for the news to sink in; then Florentyna said out loud, “Oh, my God, I think I’ll die,” and fainted.
She woke to find her mother by the side of her bed.
“Why?” was Florentyna’s first word.
“Because he wasn’t good enough for you. The right man won’t allow his mother to select the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.”
When Florentyna returned to Cambridge, matters did not improve. She was unable to concentrate on any serious work and often spent hours on her bed in tears. Nothing Bella could do or say seemed to help and she could devise no better tactic than belittlement. “Not the sort of man I would want on my team.” Other men asked Florentyna for dates, but she didn’t accept any of them. Her father and mother became so worried about her that they even discussed the problem with each other.
Finally, Florentyna came close to failing a course, and her advisor, Miss Rose, warned her that she had a lot of work to do if she still hoped to win her Phi Beta Kappa key. Florentyna remained indifferent. At the beginning of the summer vacation she stayed at home in Chicago accepting no invitations to parties or dinners. She helped her mother choose some new clothes but bought none for herself. She read the details of the “society wedding of the year,” as the Boston Globe referred to the marriage of Scott Roberts to Cynthia Knowles, but it only made her cry again. The arrival of a wedding invitation from Edward Winchester did not help. Later, she tried to remove Scott from her thoughts by going to New York and working unheard-of-hours for her father at the New York Baron. As the vacation drew to a close she dreaded returning to Radcliffe for her final year. No amount of advice from her father or sympathy from her mother seemed to improve matters. They both began to despair when she showed no interest in the preparations for her twenty-first birthday.
It was a few days before Florentyna was due to return to Radcliffe that she saw Edward across Lake Shore Drive. He looked as unhappy as she felt. Florentyna waved and smiled. He waved back but didn’t smile. They stood and stared at each other until Edward crossed the road.