fences of the houses we passed as we ambled along the sidewalk, which in New Orleans was known as a banquette. Most banquettes were built two to three feet high, mainly to keep water out of houses. Across the way I saw three Tulane summer school coeds giggling and walking while two boys in a convertible followed slowly and tried to get their attention.
'You're not an only child, and you're not spoiled. That's for sure,' Jack Weller began.
'I have twin brothers, twelve years old.'
'Uh-huh.'
'But I am spoiled,' I admitted.
'Sure. All spoiled young women agree to work as nurse's aides for peanuts and are willing to clean up after sick people,' he remarked. He gazed at me again. 'You're not spoiled.'
'I'm spoiled, but I'm determined,' I replied.
He laughed. 'I like that. You're from a well-to-do family, right?'
'Yes. But did you really guess that or did you cross-examine Sophie?' I fired back quickly.
He laughed again. 'You are a bright girl. All right. I'll confess I asked Sophie some questions. Just down here,' he said seizing my hand and turning us into a side street toward an apartment building with a canopy that sagged in the middle. The gray stucco walls were badly chipped and cracked and the front door was in dire need of paint or wood stain. 'I want to prepare you,' he said as we approached the en-trance. 'I have only a studio apartment. Someone from the Garden District won't think much of it, I suspect.'
'I'm spoiled, but I'm not a snob,' I said.
His smile widened again and he opened the door. We stepped through a short entryway into a small lobby, the walls of which were faded and smudged. Here and there the dark brown tile floor was chipped. The only furnishing was a rickety table with an oval mirror in a dull white frame above it. The aroma of shrimp gumbo filled the air.
'The stairs are faster than the elevator,' he said, nodding toward them. I followed him up three flights, the old, worn steps moaning complaints at our every step. 'At least I have a little view,' he said putting his key into the lock.
I was prepared for a small place with inexpensive furnishings, but I wasn't prepared for the mess. The door opened immediately to the living room-bedroom. The settee to the right was covered with books and papers, and there were books and papers on the floor as well. There was also a coffee cup, still with some coffee in it; the dish beside it was crusted with leftover pasta. The windowsill was caked with dust, and the rug was frayed clear through in spots.
'I got up late this morning and didn't get a chance to clean up from last night,' he explained. 'Otherwise, it's comfortable.'
Comfortable? I thought. It would be easy to become claustrophobic here. We had closets bigger than Jack's apartment. There was only one narrow window in the living room-bedroom, and the room itself was barely big enough to contain the settee, the bed, a table, and two chairs. Through an open doorway I saw a tiny kitchen with dishes piled in the sink and a small trash can stuffed so full that a take-out pizza box popped up and over the side.
Jack scurried about, clearing off the settee, chairs, and coffee table.
'Just give me a minute,' he asked. He carried the dishes into the kitchen and then hurried back to straighten up the bed. 'Bachelors,' he said with an emphatic shrug. 'This is the way we live, but you don't know any real bachelors yet, I imagine,' he said. When I didn't reply, he stopped and looked at me. 'Do you?'
'What? Oh, no.' I couldn't get over how messy his apartment was. A doctor should be concerned about cleanliness, I thought.
'I wasn't raised to be a slob, if that's what you're thinking,' he said, reading my mind. 'Just wait until you start your internship. You'll see how little time you have for yourself. Unlike you, I come from modest means. My father worked on the oil rigs in Beaumont and was laid off so often that I used to think he was rich and had to work only a few months a year. Medical school is pretty expensive, you know,' he added.
'How did you manage?' I asked, feeling guilty for condemning him so quickly.
'My grandmother left a trust for me. When she first left it, it was worth something, but inflation ate up a lot of it and the cost of medical school climbed, so I had to borrow money. I'm in debt up to here,' he said holding his hand an inch or so above his head. 'It's a great advantage to attend medical school and not have to worry about financing,' he said. 'But you've got to have more than money to become a doctor. Only thing is . . .' He stopped cleaning up and stared at me, shaking his head slowly.
'What?' I asked, concerned.
'You're really too attractive.'
'What?'
'Seems like a waste,' he added. 'You should be a doctor's wife, bedecked with jewels and furs, running social and charity affairs,' he said and then laughed. 'Just kidding. Although the only female doctors I've known could scare the germs away.' He patted down his bed, which was covered with a plain light blue quilt and two pillows. 'Would you like something cold to drink? I've got orange juice, tonic water, and Dixie beer.'
I gazed at the kitchen. It looked contaminated.
His face broke into a laughing smile. 'I'll wash the glass first. I promise,' he said.
'Orange juice will be fine.'
'Great. Sit anywhere you like. Sit on the bed if you want,' he said and went to get my juice. I sat on the settee and started to peruse the medical books.
'I know it's too soon, but have you considered what you want to specialize in?' he asked from the kitchen.
'I was thinking about pediatrics.'
