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Grassy Plots On A Short Skirt

Emily Johnson knew that her major (history of art) and minor (architecture) was only a stalking horse for daughters of good families. Studying history of art was their plea to make contacts with men at different university overlapping events and in cafes, bars and dancing halls that had a reputation for it. As Emily studied it for the same reason, she didn’t mind. Studying was a pastime until she would finally find a man and marry him. In contrast to her first weeks at Smith, she had learned to see the whole looking for a husband-endeavour easier, however. Moreover, she had taken a fancy to student’s life and decided to get her bachelors degree before marrying.
Marrying. Emily had no more doubts that she would find an adequate husband, if she wouldn’t be too picky. Moreover she truly enjoyed the search for one. Having dates with men who found her attractive, who gave her compliments and sent her flowers and chocolates were balsam for her soul. Actually, she had worked out a perfect system that comprised three dates a week. On Mondays she used to visit one of the cafes, bars and dancing halls in order to make new contacts. Whenever she liked a man, she would accept his invitation to a date on Thursday. Whenever a man proved to be short listed on Thursday, she agreed on a Friday night date. Whenever a Friday night date turned out to be really short listed, she’d accept a date on Saturday. And whenever a man turned out to be a duffer, she would recruit a new one on Monday evenings.
During one and a half years of meeting men and dating them, there had been only twelve who made it to a Saturday date. The first seven, because Emily Johnson still had been in a desperate search for any husband by then, the last four, because she liked them. Hence number four (Martin Dafoe, a Harvard student and heir of a Texan oil empire) had been the first man she ever kissed in her life. The kiss was short and wet and all she felt while it lasted was the urgent need to get rid of the second-party tongue in her mouth. She had the same want with number five and seven (a Yale student with a trading company in his back and Princeton man with the prospects of becoming a successful lawyer), while she was able to enjoy the kisses of number six and eight to a certain level. Number six, Zachary Dagett, a Yale man and future owner of a famous hotel chain, threw away with Emily yet despite being a good dancer, because he unfortunately turned out to have no sense for arts and humour or anything else she liked or enjoyed and bored her to death after Saturday date number four. Number eight, a guy named Robert Tadman, student of economics at Princeton, made it to seven Saturday dates and ever since date number five Emily had high hopes that she would end up as Mrs. Tadman eventually.
Despite her ingenious and tight dating schedule, Emily took life easy (as easy as it is possible for a person like her). She spent as much time as necessary with studying (which was less) and lots of time with her friends and sports. Ever since she had been a child, her mother had urged Emily to train her body. It had begun with ballet (for the perfect posture and graceful gait) and swim (the only dignified work out in Lillian Johnson’s eyes) lessons, there were badminton and tennis lessons (back then still the sport of the rich and privileged population) and with 12 Emily joined the field hockey team of her school (as she had to do a team sport and both, mother and daughter, considered field hockey to be more dignified than soft- and volleyball), which soon became her favourite sport.
Emily simply loved everything about field hockey, especially the games. She loved the whistle that opened the sportier competition, the scraping and squeaking of the shoes and hockey sticks on the grass, the sound of a fast hockey ball hitting the goal and all the shouts and cheers that came with it. She loved the hum of blood in her ears and veins, the wild beating of her heart and even the sweating that came with the exercise as well as the satisfactory exhaustion afterwards. She loved the sensation of having won and loathed the knockdown of having lost. Especially today. First of all the opposing team hadn’t been equal and gained an unfair victory with tricks and fouls, although the rules of field hockey forbid any physical contact or elbowing. Second Robert Tadman was sitting among the viewers. Suffering defeat in the presence of a man she was seriously dating since some weeks was hard enough, but she had fallen onto the ground after a fast and hard ball of C.C. Everetts had hit her side. A ball that had been batted with the purpose of hitting her. But although Emily was fret and fume after the game, she tried to play fair as the fighting belonged onto the field. It started with the tingler and ended with the final whistle. Everyone knew that, really.
Well, everyone except the hockey team of Wellesley College, whose members apparently had left their manners in Wellesley, if they had any manners at all. When Emily heard C.C. Everetts calling the Smith field hockey team “a pride of duds” on the parking lot, she lost the rest of her poise therefore and unhesitatingly took the opportunity to ram her elbow into the neck of the smaller girl while passing her, which caused C.C. to fall onto the ground.
“Have you lost your mind?”, C.C. screamed, getting back onto her feet and rubbing her red neck.
“I’m so sorry, I must’ve overlooked you”, Emily replied with the most sweet smile. “Did I hit you?”
“You know perfectly, you did.”
“It was an accident.”
“Snake in the grass, you did it on purpose.”
“If you want to prevent people running into you, I suggest you to wear a high red hat to mark your tiny appearance, but do not imply things you can’t prove.”
“You’re right, I can’t prove it”, C.C. replied, a smile forming on her otherwise combative face. “Just like you won’t be able to prove that I batted the ball on purpose, which will hit your pretty face during our next game.”
“Listen, darling”, Emily replied, the sweetness in her voice was replaced with cold sharpness by now. “If you ever should happen to bat a ball into my direction or badmouth my team again, it just might happen that I accidentally run into you again. And then you won’t get off as lightly as today.”
“I’m afraid, there won’t be any other hockey games you’ll participate in, Miss Johnson”, the voice of her trainer resounded.
“What!?!”, Emily spun around, being sure, she got hold of the wrong end of the stick.
“You understood me perfectly. You’re barred from the team.”
“You can’t bar me! I’m one of the best players!” Emily exclaimed in shock. “Besides, she started it, I was just - ”
“I don’t care who started it or why”, the trainer interrupted her. “All I saw was one of my players elbowing and threatening one of our guests and I can’t and won’t tolerate such behaviour in my team.”
“But –“, Emily tried to defend herself again.
“There are no buts. I’ll meet you in my office in half an hour.”
“But”, she murmured another time, watching the trainer walking away, feeling the gleeful views of C.C. Everetts and her team-mates lying on her.
Officially Richard Gilmore had watched the field hockey game between Smith and Wellesley, because he had promised Susan Miller, a Wellesley girl he dated every once in a while, to cheer her. Unofficially he was here to watch those girls running over the grass in their tight and short tricots. And although neither he nor any other male viewer would ever admit it freely to a woman, the tricots and the bodies inside of them were the only reason why men attended those games. Field hockey simply couldn’t be considered as a sport and he was sure it only had been invented to give the players the opportunity to lose some calories and showcase their bodies and legs in front of their idols.
Observing the encounter of the Wellesley and the Smith player on the parking lot had puzzled him hence. He remembered the fierce pass of the small redhead and the downfall of the dark-haired Smith player (her skirt had ridden up while falling and revealed a well-shaped right thigh and bottom line), but he never would’ve thought, they would take the whole coincidence seriously enough to attack each other at a parking lot. Or that one of them would be kicked out of her team for it.
Notwithstanding he couldn’t understand her enragement, Richard felt slightly sorry for the Smith player. Since Susan Miller was still in the changing room, he decided to spend the waiting time with a chat to the brunette after the bunch had dissolved. He strolled towards the bench she was meanwhile sitting on, making a thorough inspection of her. He had already noticed her legs, which looked even better on this second view; same went for the rest of her body that was featured with sizeable breasts, although she was very slim otherwise. Thanks to her dark eyes and hair and the glowing cheeks she had almost something of an Amazon.
“It looks like you need a new sport”, Richard started the conversation, it was always good to start it with a remark that showed interest and humour, women like that. “You’d make a heck of a football player.”
Usually women liked it. Emily Johnson looked at him with an angry twinkle in her eyes, however. The last thing she needed, were stupid comments. “I don’t remember having asked for your opinion”, she replied therefore.
“Well, you didn’t”, Richard said rather stupid as he hadn’t counted on such a reply.
“Why tell it to me then?”
“I tried to start a conversation.”
“And why would you do that?”
Richard couldn’t help to grin. Her snottiness had something. “You struck me during the game. And afterwards.”
“Why thank you”, Emily smiled sarcastically. “And for your further information: You don’t start a conversation with saucy remarks, but with a ‘Hello, my name is’.”
To her relief, the guy’s only reaction was the bevelling of his head and then he started to walk away.
To her disfavour he turned around after some metres and came back.
“Hello, my name is Richard Gilmore. May I?”, he pointed at the bench and sat down without her affirmation. “You played a hell of a field hockey game today.”
“My team lost”, she remembered him, not knowing what was going on.
“Not your fault, you played a fantastic midfield.”
“I’m playing centre forward.”
“And you were fantastic.”
“I was awful.”
“You were not”, he disagreed, although he hardly remembered more than her fall down. “That goal of yours was impressive.”
“My goal was impressive”, Emily replied dumbfounded, which encouraged Richard to continue.
“Yes”, he nodded enthusiastically. “That’s why I appealed to you. The way you bashed that ball into the goal was probably the most formidable shot I saw in my entire life.”
Emily smiled benignly. “Was it?”
“Yes, the power and boatmanship knocked me for a loop”, he continued praising something he never had seen or could rate. “Very professional, they’d affiliate you into the national team without a blink, if they had seen it. With you on the team, they’d win –“, as she had started to giggle with the “loop” and laughed loud by now, Richard stopped and cleared his throat with slight embarrassment. “You didn’t goal, right?”
“No”, still grinning, she shook her head.
A beautiful smile, Richard thought and congratulated himself for his decision to talk to her.
“Neither did I goal”, she went on. “Nor do you have any knowledge of field hockey.”
“You caught me red-handed”, he confessed. “I do have a very distinct knowledge of beautiful women, however. And you were definitely the most beautiful on the field.”
“You better do not tell that the girl you’re here for.”
“How would you know, I’m here for a girl?”
“It’s quite evident that you aren’t here for field hockey.”
“You win 2:0”, Richard said, thinking about how to safe the situation. It annoyed him that she had debunked him completely and he looked like a pretty big jerk, now. “Still, I mean it. You were the most beautiful on the field and if I had known you before, I’d be here for you.”
As Emily didn’t know, if to feel flattered by his compliments or to be annoyed by his brazenness, all she answered was a short “Thanks”. Fortunately, Robert Tadman showed up and she practically jumped off the bench. “Robert, there you are”, she exclaimed with a relieved smile.
“Emily”, he took her hand, kissing it lightly. “You look fabulous.”
“Thank you”, she smiled, Robert was really handsome and charming. He knew how to threat women. “I’m afraid, I’ve to reschedule our date, however.”
“Why?”, Robert asked visibly crestfallen.
“Well, something interfered”, she evaded the question.
“Something more important than a trip to the Quabbin Reservoir?”, he said it with a wink, still Emily felt horrible.
“Well, I. It’s just that I -”, she started, being unable to finish the sentence. Cowardly, she knew and hated herself for it. But elbowing other players and getting banned from the team wasn’t exactly what she wanted Robert Tadman to know of her.
Richard Gilmore apparently thought differently. “She elbowed one of the Wellesley players, was kicked out of the team and has to report to her trainer’s office, now”, he jumped in.
Emily’s jaw dropped open and she gave him a mad view, boiling with rage for the third time today. Not only because of Richard’s remark, but because he didn’t realize that he was interfering and didn’t show the slightest inclination to go. This time she pulled herself together, at least as long Robert Tadman was here and they agreed on a new time.
“What on earth have you been thinking?”, she snapped at Richard once Robert was out of hearing. “That was really the rudest behaviour I experienced in my entire life. How could you tell him? And how could you not notice that your presence was unwanted? Are you some sort of idiot or what?”
Richard was wordless. No woman had ever talked to him like that. Never. Surprisingly, her directness impressed him not only, but sparked his interest for more than a chat on a parking lot. The girl was definitely dating material, he felt. “I’m sorry”, he apologized therefore. “I really wasn’t thinking.”
“You can bet.”
“What about a coffee in satisfaction of my stupidity?”
“You want to drink coffee with me?” Emily was more than puzzled. She called that guy an idiot and he wanted to spend time with her. Now that was something.
Richard nodded. “Yes.”
“I have to go to my teacher’s office and you’re waiting for another girl”, she remembered him.
“Then a drink later tonight.”
“Not two minutes ago, I agreed on meeting Robert for a drink later tonight.”
“What about tomorrow?”, he staid obstinate, there was nothing to lose anyway.
“I have to study tomorrow.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your major?”, he digged deeper, nothing to lose and nothing lost, yet.
“History of arts.”
“That’s perfect”, he grinned. “The Yale museum of art is fantastic. You’ll love it, you’ll have fun and you’ll learn many things. Talk of killing three birds with one stone.”
“I don’t know”, she hesitated, although she almost regretted venting her wrath on him as he (despite his lack of manners and tactfulness) seemed to be sort of a nice guy. So was Robert Tadman, she recalled, as well as Arthur Caine and Marcel Burton, the other two men who held the spots in her dating system. She wasn’t in need of another one. Besides, she really had to study for a test
“Please”, Richard said with a smile.
Emily really didn’t know why. Still she agreed.