Stella

Cambridge
“It’s not quite like a ball; it’s more like a dance,” Charlie’s roommate, Quincy, insisted. “There aren’t so many of those ridiculous rules like you’re used to. You have to experience it to believe it.”
“Why would anyone allow their daughter to attend a ball without following the formalities we’re all accustomed to?” Charlie asked, still unable to fathom precisely what his friend was describing.
“Why not? Are American gentlemen so unruly that we can’t be trusted? Besides, most of the girls will be from Radcliffe, and their parents are far away. Listen, Charlie, just come for a bit, have a drink, and if you don’t want to dance, that’s fine. You’ve just got to liven up a bit, old boy. You live like an old married man, and you’re not even formally engaged yet!”
While Charlie had a scathing response ready, he bit his tongue. Perhaps Quincy was right. Maybe he did need to get out more. He had spent most of the first semester sequestered in their dorm room, making sure his grades were all that they should be. Even though he was a bit afraid of what this so-called dance might be like, he knew that things were different in Cambridge than they had been in New York City, and rules seemed to be changing so far as what was acceptable and what was not. He finally reluctantly gave in and followed his friend out into the night to make their way the few blocks over to where the get-together was being held.
The first thing he noticed was how informally everyone was dressed, including himself. While he still had on a three-piece suit, it wasn’t the tails he would normally wear to a formal event. The ladies were dressed in long gowns, but they were not nearly as elegant as what he was used to. There were several full-fledged adults in attendance, and they also seemed to be enjoying themselves. He noticed that the ladies were attending to their own needs, getting drinks, disappearing off to what must be the ladies’ lounge, etc., with no escort.
“Wow—this is certainly something,” he muttered, taking it all in.
“I told you,” Quincy replied, nudging him in the shoulder.
Quincy was quite the handsome young man. Tall, like Charlie, well-built, with sandy blond hair and a charismatic smile, he had told Charlie many times of his exploits at these types of events. Charlie didn’t believe everything he said as he couldn’t imagine a young lady agreeing to most of what he had to say, but now that he was in this new setting, he was having an easier time accepting some of it might be true.
A moment later, Charlie found himself standing alone as Quincy rushed off to the side of a beautiful young lady with light blonde hair pulled up on top of her head in a nice chignon. He must have known her because her eyes were sparking before he even reached her, and Charlie wondered which of the girls he had heard Quincy speak about this one might be.
Though Charlie noticed several young women smiling in his direction, he felt very uncomfortable and decided to have a drink rather than try his hand at asking one of the young ladies to dance. He approached the punch bowl cautiously as several unaccompanied young women were standing nearby, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of their presence. One of them said, “Good evening,” to him, and he nodded at her before getting his drink and stepping away, hoping to find a seat in the corner somewhere. Observation might be best at first lest he embarrass himself.
He hadn’t been sitting for more than a few minutes when he heard a voice beside him. “First dance then?” she asked, and while he couldn’t quite place it, Charlie knew for certain he’d heard that voice before.
He turned to see familiar green eyes smiling up at him. Though it had been years since he had seen her, he would recognize that face anywhere. “Stella?” he asked, and then catching himself, he corrected, “I mean, that is to say, Miss Pettigrew….”
She laughed, and despite the loud music, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were hearing the tinkling of angel’s wings. “Please, Charlie. You can call me Stella.”
“How do you know my name?” he asked, shocked.
“How do I know your name? How do you know my name?” she joked playfully nudging him. “Don’t you think I asked my brother who you were just as soon as I had the chance? Besides, it’s not like the newspapers ever go a day without writing something about you or your family.” Leaning in closely to his ear, she whispered, “You’re famous.”
She pulled away laughing, and Charlie couldn’t help but smile, though he wasn’t sure what to think of her forwardness. He was beginning to wonder what was in the punch. But then again, this was the young woman he had met catching a football and running it into the end zone, so it wasn’t as if she were a rule follower. “Why are you here?” he asked. “Do you attend Radcliffe?”
“I do,” she nodded. Her long brown hair was tied up neatly atop her head, and she was wearing red, as she had been the first time he saw her. In the soft glow of the gaslights, she looked exquisite. “This is my first year.”
“What are you studying?” Charlie asked, sipping his drink, still afraid it might contain copious amounts of alcohol.
“Physics,” she said with a straight face.
Charlie laughed, almost spitting the punch out. However, almost as quickly as the fit of humor attacked him, he realized that she was quite serious. “Physics?” he repeated. “I had no idea that was even an option at Radcliffe.”
“You mean you had no idea women were capable of studying the sciences?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.
“No, not at all,” Charlie protested. “My sister is quite intelligent, as is my mother. I honestly don’t doubt for one second you’re fully capable. I’m only surprised that the coursework is available to you.”
“It’s a new program,” she replied, and he began to think perhaps she wasn’t as offended as she was at first—as she rightly should be. “But quite successful. I’m certain you’ll be hearing about it soon enough.”
“Remarkable,” Charlie muttered, shaking his head. “I am very interested in that sort of thing—making new discoveries that could lead to important inventions and the like.”
“Well, I’d love to tell you all about our work sometime, but I hardly think a party is the place for such discussions. Wouldn’t you like to dance?”
Charlie was confused. He wasn’t sure if she was commenting on the fact that he was not dancing or if she was actually asking him to dance—something so forward he couldn’t even imagine a college-attending, football-playing, female scientist daring to do. “I do like to dance, though I’ve never been too good at it.”
Stella stood and gestured to the dance floor. “Then, after you!”
Though he was still having trouble grasping this strange world he had entered into, Charlie led Stella onto the dance floor and was at least somewhat assured by the fact that the dance, a simple waltz, was familiar and expected. Stella was a wonderful dancer, and it was clear by the number of eyes following her around the dance floor that he was not the only one interested in sharing her time. Once the song ended, he barely had a moment to thank her before another gentlemen was extending his hand, asking her to dance. Being a well-mannered young man, Charlie excused himself and soon found another young woman whose soft brown eyes seemed to implore that she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Before the evening was over, he had danced with more girls than he could count, and a number of them had approached him, though Stella was the only you who was so bold as to actually ask him outright. The others only made demure faces at him until he asked them himself. For the last song of the evening before the musicians packed their instruments and the host and hostess sent them on their way, Charlie found himself face to face with the graceful brunette, and without a word, he took her hand, leading her around the dance floor as if they both knew they were meant to be together.
When the song ended, Stella squeezed his hand “Good night, Charlie,” she said.
“Good night, Stella,” he replied, holding her gaze.
“I had a lovely time. I hope we’ll run into each other again soon.”
Charlie wanted to respond, but by the time he’d worked out an appropriate phrase, she had already gone, off to join her friends across the room who were gathering together to make their way back to Radcliffe no doubt.
He felt a slap on his shoulder as Quincy brought his hand down and rested it there. “Well, my friend, what do you say? Did you have a memorable evening?”
“I’ll say,” Charlie replied, his eyes still following the disappearing silhouette of the girl in the red dress.
“Good. Let’s get back to the room. Perhaps next time I make a suggestion, you won’t doubt me, old man.”
Once again, Charlie had no response, and he followed Quincy out into the night. Though he was slightly attuned to the realization that his life may have just become a lot more complicated than it had ever been before, he decided to push those thoughts aside and concentrate only on the memory of twirling Stella around the dance floor. It had been a night to remember.