Billie, on the verge of changing her mind about handing in such a stunning accusation, hesitated a moment; that is, until she studied her professor.
She noticed how he ignored each girl, totally absorbed in his own world.
Standing by the desk, she stared at him intently, daring him to look in her direction. Finally, frowning at his total unawareness, she shoved her paper under the pile that was already there, and breezed out of the room, a satisfied smile upon her face.
As the last student placed her paper on the desk and left, Dr. Ackerman pulled his long legs out from under the desk, stood up, and stretched.
Gathering the papers, he smiled, glad that it was Friday for more reasons than one. Friday was the night the “DeePees,” as they called themselves, met. He could hardly wait to pass his fascinating idea by them.
Four
“Well, Sheldon, all through dinner you’ve acted like the cat who swallowed a textbook,” Dr. Hal Ozog said, smiling. “What’s up?”
The five had just enjoyed a delicious meal in the dining room of the Maple Woods Country Club. They were now settling themselves into the comfortable chairs and sofas of the small, private lounge where they held their after-dinner discussions.
As usual, the waiter entered, carrying a tray of after-dinner coffee, transferring the cups carefully onto the glass-topped coffee table in the center.
Most of the time they were joined by their spouses, in which case Sheldon Ackerman was the odd man out, the only single one of the group. He was also the youngest, though, Doc’ Bittle, the resident psychologist of the group, said, only half in jest, “Shel’s thirty-eight years of age belies his fifty-eight-year-old persona.”
Sheldon smiled at Hal’s question, thinking as always what an odd group they were. They had known each other for three years. Belonging to the country club of this small college town, they soon became acquainted and were intellectually drawn together. Stimulated by each other’s thinking, as they agreed and disagreed on many diverse subjects, they fell into the comfortable habit of meeting every Friday night for dinner at the club.
For brevity, they decided to call themselves the “Deepees.” Classy and trim, fifty-five year old Nettie Newman, with lovely blonde hair, and her husband, Don, owners of The Diet Center, were the ‘D’ of the DeePees. Don, also a walking advertisement for fitness, was good-looking, blond, and well built.
On the quiet side, Don sat back most of the time, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he listened to the group discuss the issues of the day—unless the subject of discussion was either football or politics.
Dr. Robert Bittle, one of the ‘P’s of the DeePees, was fifty, and a practicing psychologist. He had more patients than a sane person should have, but also had a sense of humor to keep him that way. He was short, stocky with thinning light brown hair, and had a pleasant, open face that invited confidence.
Dr. Hal Ozog, a family practice physician, was the second ‘P.’ At sixtyfive, unlike Bittle, he was tall and had a full head of dark hair, peppered with silver. Newly retired, he now enjoyed his wife and fifteen grandchildren fulltime.
Sheldon Ackerman, a professor, was the last of the ‘P’s. He had successfully foiled attempts of the other three, who were happily married with children, to match him up with a once-in-a-while or permanent partner. They now reluctantly accepted him as a hopeless bachelor.
“Yes, tell us what’s on your mind, Shel,” Nettie said, smiling, the crow’s feet at the corners of her lovely blue eyes becoming pronounced.
Sheldon grinned, his intense blue eyes alight with excitement, and blurted out, “How would you all like to help me play ‘Pygmalion?’” Immediately, the four were on the edge of their seats, intrigued. This was definitely something out of character for Sheldon Ackerman.
“You mean,” Nettie began, “like Professor Higgins in the musical ‘My Fair Lady.’” A smile tugged at Sheldon’s lips as he contemplated her question. “Well, maybe.”
Nettie chuckled. “Oh sure,” she said in a skeptical tone. “Where’s the Eliza Doolittle you want to make over?”
“I have a whole class full of them,” he said emphatically.
“Come on, Sheldon, be serious,” Robert countered.
“Okay, so I was exaggerating. Let me tell you how it is.” Sheldon told them about his all-female class and of his frustrations concerning it, especially with what he felt were the students’ personal handicaps to success in the world of business.
“The idea came to me this afternoon. Now, mind you, it’s just an idea. If all of you find that it sounds improbable or foolhardy, I know you’ll tell me.
As I explained, most of them are overweight or careless in dress, with the loss of confidence and self-esteem that these bring; and since they are the majority, I would like to work with them. What if . . .” he began as he placed his palms together, tapping his chin with the fingers, then lowering them, “what if we have the class fill out a questionnaire, one that all of us design—one that asks pertinent and probing questions. Then, after studying the questionnaires and discussing the candidates, we’ll choose four. This is where I’ll need your help.
“I’m sure that the financial benefactor, who has helped me out with other projects, will be interested in this one.
“If for instance, the four young women we choose, would like to work on their weight, each of you will be able to give them valuable help in your area of expertise. As I’ve heard you say, Nettie, losing weight is difficult and complicated, and I might add, has become a national pastime for women. So, what if we offer our four candidates a reward, perhaps a compelling amount of money toward their education at the end of a specified time if they’re successful. Then they’ll also receive another amount at the end of a year if they’re still successful and self-disciplined in their weight, dress, and studies.”
He paused and searched each of their still-surprised faces. “Well, what do you all think?”
Robert Bittle responded, first with a chuckle then with a question, “Do we believe this, folks?” he asked, looking at the other three, who laughed and shook their heads. “Well, Sheldon, I see that you’re serious, so the first thing I would like to say is—it probably won’t work.”
“Why?” Sheldon asked, unmoved by their reactions.
“Because in some cases there are psychological reasons behind the problems you mentioned.”
“Oh, I forgot to explain,” Sheldon said, “If it turns out that the candidates we work with happen to be overweight, I feel they should not be more than thirty pounds overweight.”
“That’s wise, Shel,” Nettie said. “Since this is an experiment, that would be easier to work with.”
“I agree,” Hal Ozog added. “But sometimes there are medical reasons for people gaining weight, so if we were to take on this preposterous idea, they would have to have a thorough medical exam first.”
“Good idea, Hal, good idea,” replied Sheldon. “I think that is a must since it would be a special study. I would have to first get the approval and support of the Dean. Then if this experiment turns out to be successful, and after several such experiments, I would write a book about it. I’m hoping it will help young women everywhere who want to be successful in the business world, but who are totally naive and ignorant of the principles of success. In my mind, the first principle is that a woman must learn to manage herself.”
Nettie bristled. “Shel, you’re sounding a little callous, insensitive, and ignorant when you say overweight young women are not good managers of themselves. I know quite a few women, young and old, who are efficient in every way, and successful in the business world, and yet they’re overweight in spite of their unsuccessful efforts to lose.”
“I agree with Nettie,” Hal said.
Robert and Don nodded their agreement and all four pair of eyes bored into him unmercifully. Sheldon shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, so we don’t quite see eye-to-eye. It’s just that we don’t know if these girls would be successful if left
to their own devices. I simply believe that we can greatly enhance the odds that they will be. Now, tell me what you think of the idea.
Can I count on your help and support?” he asked, looking at each one.
“Hey, leave me outa this, Shel,” Don stated firmly. “In our diet center, my expertise is in male fitness. Nettie handles the female part. I’ll just go along with whatever Nettie says on this.”
“All right, Don.”
Robert answered next. “I’ll have to think this over for at least a week, and discuss it with my wife.”
Nettie and Hal agreed they also needed a week to think about taking on such a daunting task. Hal told them he wanted to talk it over with his wife, also.
“And while you’re thinking about it,” Sheldon added, “I need you to think about doing me another big favor. Would you each consider being a support for one of them? But since we’ve picked four, that means I also will be required to be a support for one. However,” he said rubbing his forehead nervously, “if my student chooses to work on her weight first, I don’t have any expertise in that area and I’m afraid I’ll need some support myself.”
The group looked at each other and laughed at the thought of their “proper” friend in the possible role he had just assigned himself.
Nettie spoke up. “Don’t worry, Shel, I’ll help the girls. All you’ll have to do is encourage and support them.”
“Thanks, Nettie,” he sighed with relief. “Now, another thought—shouldn’t we meet with our assigned girl on a regular basis, say once a week, to see how she’s doing and encourage her?”
“If we decide to do this,” Robert said, “meeting with them on a regular basis will be very important, but I suggest that in addition to that, regular group meetings should be held once a week for a while as an added support to the girls.”
“I agree with Robert about adding the group meeting,” Nettie said. “In spite of your attitude, Shel, this promises to be a very unusual and interesting experiment. I may be able to learn something valuable for our Diet Center if we go ahead with it.”
“Nettie will be valuable in helping the girls learn how to eat right,” added Hal.
“But,” interjected Robert, “the big question is, can we find four out of that class of yours who have a strong enough desire to be successful or improve themselves?”
Sheldon frowned. “Hmm, that’s a good question, Robert. I’m wondering about that myself.”
“And,” continued Robert, “bribery may work and it may not. I think you’ll need to check up on each of them at the end of two years to see if it really worked.”
Sheldon mulled this over. “I think you’re right again. In order to make it a solid experiment, that should be done.” He heaved a sigh. “Maybe it won’t work. It’s just that I’ve seen successful business women and I’ve noticed the qualities that got them there and I would like my class to . . .” his voice trailed off.
Nettie came to his rescue. “I think it’s wonderful, Shel, that you want to help the young women in your class. We’ll give it some serious thought and meet next Friday.”
“Thank you, Nettie. You’re one of those successful business women I’m talking about. My class could learn from you.”
-
Saturday night after toasting several frozen waffles and heating some precooked ham slices, Dr. Sheldon Ackerman sat down at the kitchen table to eat and go over the assignment his 280 class handed in the day before.
Discouragement set in as he read their goals. It was obvious that some were written without thought just because it was a request from their professor.
They were unrealistic and absurd. So far, only a couple seemed to be thought out in advance. He sighed as he lifted the page to read the next one. He was stunned. Instead of written goals, there was a one line message to him! He read the cryptic sentence over and over trying to understand it.
IT’S YOUR FAULT DR. ACKERMAN!
“What’s my fault?” he asked the signature which accompanied the accusation—Billie Bliss. He knew the name, but only the name. He remembered it because it was unusual, and because, of the two brief tests he had given thus far, her scores were the highest in the class. He tried to think of her face but knew it was useless. Females were an enigma to him. The majority of the time he only looked at them as a group, not individually. If those few he had noticed specifically were put in a group, he would not be able to recognize any one of them if his life depended on it. Remembering female faces had never been his long suit.
“What is my fault?” he again asked the absent and elusive Miss Bliss. His ire was up. “Why that impudent young woman!” He was definitely going to have a serious talk with her Monday after class.
Five
Monday at 10:00 a.m., Dr. Ackerman, his dark brows arching majestically above his glasses, studied each young woman who entered the 280 class.
His brows knitted together in irritation as he tried to decide which one was the impertinent Miss Bliss. To be more correct, he supposed it should be Ms. Bliss.
Maybe, he thought, it’s that flippant-looking blonde who flounced in. Or maybe it’s that carelessly dressed girl with the stringy hair and sour expression.
Yes. She must be the one. His eyes followed her as she shuffled to a seat near the front. Studying her while she rummaged through the backpack, he saw her pull out what looked like a paperback romance. The audacity of the girl!
Of course. She was probably the one who completely flunked the last test and was now blaming it on him. No. He forgot. Billie Bliss got the highest score on the last exam. The girl with the paperback was not her. The bell rang, startling him, indicating it was time for class to start.
Just as he stood up to begin his lecture, two girls straggled in late, giggling and whispering. After one dropped a book and the other one stumbled over it, causing more giggles, they finally settled down, both looking up innocently, expectantly.
He glared at them, then cleared his throat to begin. There was no text for the class, only his hard-earned years of knowledge gained in the business world. The class was expected to take notes from his lectures and read assignments from the books on business and money-making that the benefactor had donated to the Fairfield University library.
“The lecture today,” he began, “is on reasons for small, new businesses not succeeding. We will learn what can be done to insure success instead of failure.” He stopped as he noticed the girl still reading the paperback. All heads followed his gaze.
“You know, class, you are expected to take notes. You will be tested on my lectures and not,” his voice rose, “on romance novels.” The girl jerked her head up from the book and stared at him blankly. The class tittered. He repeated the admonition, certain that she hadn’t heard it at all. The girl gave him an ‘I couldn’t care less’ look and took her time closing the book and putting it away.
More impudence! he thought. Frustrated at the minutes wasted, he continued the lecture.
Eight minutes before the end of class, he concluded by saying, “I have read your goals and I would like to interview each of you concerning these goals. Here is a paper on my desk with the schedule of my free time. I want you to sign up for a time as you leave. The interviews will vary from ten to thirty minutes. Now, will a Ms. Billie Bliss raise her hand?” Mid-way down the middle row a hand rose reluctantly, but he couldn’t see her very well. “Will you please stay for a few minutes after class, Ms. Bliss?”
He sat down and began studying a book while pandemonium took place.
Finally, the last class member finished and walked out. Sensing someone standing in front of the desk, he looked up into the face of Billie Bliss. The first thing he noticed, of course, was that she was a little overweight. But the navy blue blazer did hide it nicely.
“I’m Billie Bliss, Dr. Ackerman.”
“I would assume so, yes,” he said.
“You want to see me about what I put on my paper,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Here are my
goals as you requested.” She handed him a paper.
He glared at her. “Handing your assignment in late, does not explain what you meant by that accusation.”
“I know,” she said.
“That is an impudence I won’t tolerate in my class, Ms. Bliss.”
“Miss Bliss,” she corrected. “I didn’t intend to be impudent, Dr. Ackerman. Truly I didn’t.”
He eyed her skeptically. “Then what did you mean by that statement?”
“I merely stated a fact,” she said simply.
“A fact?” He raised his voice. “A FACT!”
“Well, it is your fault, Dr. Ackerman. But I assure you, you aren’t to blame.”
“You speak in riddles, Miss Bliss.”
“Nevertheless, that’s the way it is.”
Miss Bliss’ forthright manner and lack of defensiveness disarmed him, robbing him of his feeling of righteous indignation. It also left him thoroughly puzzled. In his experience, limited though it was, he found the opposite sex totally illogical. And again Miss Bliss had validated his conclusion that this was hopelessly their nature. He heaved a sigh. An illogical nature that, he supposed, all married men had to put up with.
Grateful that that excluded him, he asked. “Do you have a class right now, Miss Bliss?”
“No, I don’t. I have two hours before the next one.”
“Could you step into my office for a few moments, please?”
“Yes.”
He stood up, gathered up the book and papers then led her out the door to his office. “Please have a seat, Miss Bliss.”
“Thank you.” She pulled up one of the small, padded office chairs and looked around the large room. On the right stood an old oak bookcase full of books. An overflow of books was placed in neat piles on a credenza which sat under a window behind his desk. All these simply confirmed what the whole class thought—that Dr. Ackerman was a brain.On the left was a computer, printer and a copy machine. His desk, a severe old-style mahogany, was full of organized clutter and several open books.
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