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her father called them. But she didn't want to stop. Let him have both
barrels, part of her said, see if it spooks him. "Take work, for example. How
important should our careers be?
Hardly any men ever had any freedom of choice there."
"Ummm," he said judiciously, watching her face.
With most men this was a danger signal, the full-bore skeptical gaze, but she
plunged on. "Sleeping with somebody? Or somebodies?
Or nobody? Few guys were ever pestered with that problem; they didn't get to
do the choosing. How about marriage? Who, when, why--in the old days those got
decided by the offers that came in."
"Always shadowed by qthe prospect of becoming a crabby spinster,''
he added.
She conceded this with a curt nod and plunged on, words ricocheting out.
"Divorce? That's a really fresh freedom, available now just if you want it. No
need to prove cause. The cafeteria of love. Any way you cut it, today a woman
has to make up her mind about every major area. Every one! Society stands
mute--"
"Though maybe frowning a little."
"Okay, some. But look at the weight of all that. Happy? Contented?
No?--it's your responsibility, gal. Freud asked what women wanted;
now women have to ask that, and often we don't know. We don't even recognize
how to know when we do know. We're on our own."
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G EGO Y BENFORD·
He cradled his face in both hands, giving her a slow, understanding smile.
"You're facing a lot, aren't you?"
He looked so disarmed, she found it disarming. "It shows, huh?"
"In spades."
"No pun intended?"
His mouth twisted, startled, and she had to laugh, quickly adding, "Sorry, it
just came to me."
"I don't think of you as black," he said tentatively.
"I don't either. Not into identity politics. It's enough trouble just being
me."
"Indeed, a full-time job."
She relaxed a bit and pretty soon was surprised to find herself telling him
about the call from Brookhaven, wondering out loud what it might mean.
"Brookhaven will go to the UCI administration, right away," she finished.
Max took another sip of merlot and thought a moment. The restaurant had
filled, but neither of them noti-ced the rising noise level.
Alicia was feeling much better. "And being bureaucrats," he finally said,
"they'll appoint a committee to advise them."
"Why not make a decision at the top?"
"The best strategy when you're unsure is basic CYA--Cover Your
Ass. You might need a panel of experts to point to if things get dicey."
e'I don't like review panels and the like. They usually try to cut an issue
both ways."
"I don't doubt you'll tough your way through them."
"How come?"
"You've got an edge on you. If you get pushed, you shove back, correct?"
She canted her mouth to one side, reluctant to concede the point.
"I stick to essentials. You have to run your own life."
"Our lives are the exhalations and inhalations of the gods," he said loftily,
sipping more wine. "All else is folly."
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* ]2 ShewasworkingonsomenewdiagnosticswithBradwhen the knock came at the lab
door. Students never did that, just barged in, so she went to answer it. Her
back muscles conversed with her, protesting how long she had been working in a
fixed position. Should go snorkeling, she reminded herself. Why live on the
ocean if you never go in? She had been working solid, fourteen-hour days
longer than she wanted to remember.
A secretary from her department waited at the door, nervously shifting from
one foot to another. "Sorry to bother you, Professor
Butterworth, but Dean Lattimer has been trying to reach you by telephone.
She needs to see you."
"Okay, I'll finish up here and--"
"She said, uh, right away."
A small alarm went off way in the back of her mind. "Lattimer, she's dean of
research, right?"
"Yes." She seemed anxious to get away. In the language of hierarchy sending a
human messenger was part of the message.
Alicia closed the door. Some women on the staff still felt uncomfortable
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