he? Too much archaic ritual, for my taste.”
“I suppose,” I said. I wouldn’t have missed my degree ceremony for the world.
He tapped the glass of the photo. “And besides, I would have felt ridiculous in the gown with all those bits of velvetand tassels and such. Jane thought I ought to, since I’d worked so hard, but really, she was the one who straightened me out, set me down to proper work. I might not have finished if left to my own devices.”
I looked at him. “Did you really want to do the degree?”
Greg nodded soberly. “Yeah, I did, because I couldn’t do the sort of work I want without one. I just found it hard to settle down to it. You see, it was the writing. The analysis and the reading were fine, but then there was the writing.”
He shuddered. “Writing anything but a straight report gives me hives, and the thought of applying all that theory to my lovely, straightforward data stopped me cold. I found every excuse in the book to avoid it, but once Jane had finished, she took over. She did all the housework, looked after all the little things that can distract one. She taught me how to tackle the thesis so I wouldn’t get overwhelmed by the enormity of it. She must have read my thesis thirty times, and her comments made it better, every time. I couldn’t have done it without her.”
I was impressed by the frankness of his admission, even as he colored at it. “What’s this one? Who is this with you?” I could tell the picture had been taken a long time ago. Greg’s hair was much longer, and therefore much frizzier, so that he resembled a dandelion going to seed. He must have been wearing contact lenses then. The other man’s hair was dyed black and teased into New Wave tufts that must have required a fortune in styling gel to maintain. Both wore overlong black sweaters, narrowly cut trousers, and boots; both held half-empty beer glasses and wore the solemn smirks of new college students. Greg’s friend, however, knew just how much makeup would give the best effect without hiding any of his good looks.
“Ah, that’s Andrew Freeman and me.” Greg grinned. “University in the eighties, when we were both so much younger and so much prettier. Well, I was as yet unlined, at least; Andrew’s still pretty enough to suit his purposes.”
“Works it, does he?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. The picture said it all; all that effort put into one’s appearance told the story.
“Oh, women have always flocked to him and he’s never minded it in the least. Nothing ever sticks, however, but that’s just as well with him. His work comes first, always—Andrew’s rather monomanic when it comes to his bones—though he does like to keep his hand in with the odd fling, every now and then. Can’t blame him for it.”
I brought my nose to within an inch of the photo, trying to make something out. “That’s not eyeliner you’re wearing, is it? Greg, you little Goth, you!”
“Ah, yes, I must cringingly admit that I was, a bit.” Greg colored and shoved his glasses up his nose, but then considered the picture critically. “More of a Curehead, really, but we thought we were the coolest things going, all that bleak drama and all.” He shook his head, smiling at his younger image, then turned back to me, mock-serious. “Mind you, Andrew always bought his own eyeliner and you will notice he’s wearing nail varnish. I only ever borrowed Jane’s eyeliner for parties, but nothing for working days, and nothing on the nails, you’ll please notice.”
I laughed. “You and Jane were dating then?”
“We’d just started. She took that picture, actually. Andrew wasn’t thrilled about her joining us all the time, but eventually he came around, of course. Even flirted with her a bit, though of course Jane would have none of it. She tore him up one side and down the other. Later on, he apologized to me for being a bastard.” Greg shrugged and grinned. “I knew he was really just
“I suppose,” I said. I wouldn’t have missed my degree ceremony for the world.
He tapped the glass of the photo. “And besides, I would have felt ridiculous in the gown with all those bits of velvetand tassels and such. Jane thought I ought to, since I’d worked so hard, but really, she was the one who straightened me out, set me down to proper work. I might not have finished if left to my own devices.”
I looked at him. “Did you really want to do the degree?”
Greg nodded soberly. “Yeah, I did, because I couldn’t do the sort of work I want without one. I just found it hard to settle down to it. You see, it was the writing. The analysis and the reading were fine, but then there was the writing.”
He shuddered. “Writing anything but a straight report gives me hives, and the thought of applying all that theory to my lovely, straightforward data stopped me cold. I found every excuse in the book to avoid it, but once Jane had finished, she took over. She did all the housework, looked after all the little things that can distract one. She taught me how to tackle the thesis so I wouldn’t get overwhelmed by the enormity of it. She must have read my thesis thirty times, and her comments made it better, every time. I couldn’t have done it without her.”
I was impressed by the frankness of his admission, even as he colored at it. “What’s this one? Who is this with you?” I could tell the picture had been taken a long time ago. Greg’s hair was much longer, and therefore much frizzier, so that he resembled a dandelion going to seed. He must have been wearing contact lenses then. The other man’s hair was dyed black and teased into New Wave tufts that must have required a fortune in styling gel to maintain. Both wore overlong black sweaters, narrowly cut trousers, and boots; both held half-empty beer glasses and wore the solemn smirks of new college students. Greg’s friend, however, knew just how much makeup would give the best effect without hiding any of his good looks.
“Ah, that’s Andrew Freeman and me.” Greg grinned. “University in the eighties, when we were both so much younger and so much prettier. Well, I was as yet unlined, at least; Andrew’s still pretty enough to suit his purposes.”
“Works it, does he?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. The picture said it all; all that effort put into one’s appearance told the story.
“Oh, women have always flocked to him and he’s never minded it in the least. Nothing ever sticks, however, but that’s just as well with him. His work comes first, always—Andrew’s rather monomanic when it comes to his bones—though he does like to keep his hand in with the odd fling, every now and then. Can’t blame him for it.”
I brought my nose to within an inch of the photo, trying to make something out. “That’s not eyeliner you’re wearing, is it? Greg, you little Goth, you!”
“Ah, yes, I must cringingly admit that I was, a bit.” Greg colored and shoved his glasses up his nose, but then considered the picture critically. “More of a Curehead, really, but we thought we were the coolest things going, all that bleak drama and all.” He shook his head, smiling at his younger image, then turned back to me, mock-serious. “Mind you, Andrew always bought his own eyeliner and you will notice he’s wearing nail varnish. I only ever borrowed Jane’s eyeliner for parties, but nothing for working days, and nothing on the nails, you’ll please notice.”
I laughed. “You and Jane were dating then?”
“We’d just started. She took that picture, actually. Andrew wasn’t thrilled about her joining us all the time, but eventually he came around, of course. Even flirted with her a bit, though of course Jane would have none of it. She tore him up one side and down the other. Later on, he apologized to me for being a bastard.” Greg shrugged and grinned. “I knew he was really just
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