for Stanford and it's good news for Palo Alto and the whole Bay Area. The only question we have is whether the administration will let us nonacademics visit the Ethelred Engineering Building and Ape House. It's so much closer, you know, than the San Francisco Zoo." She paused and smiled. "That's all for this evening; network news is next; we'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for joining us."
She held her smile while her co-anchor said good night and the red light on his camera went off and they knew the commercial was rolling. "That is the damndest story," Dawn said to her co-anchor, and they talked about it for a minute and then forgot it. It was just one of so many that they read and never thought much about, even while they were reading them. It was amusing, but there was no reason to remember it.
But others did. They paid attention, they talked about it, and they remembered it.
"Not true," Nick said, watching Dawn Danvers tell the story of Ramona Jackson. He was making dinner and Valerie was watching him. "God damn it, it was a joke!"
"What was a joke?" she asked idly They had spent the afternoon in bed, the first time in almost a month they had had his apartment to themselves for more than an hour or two, and she was feeling slow and lazy as she sipped her wine. She had barely glanced at the newscast.
"Listen," Nick said and she heard Dawn say, "... let us nonacademics visit the Ethelred Engineering Building and Ape House. It's so much closer, you know, than the San Francisco Zoo."
"Ape house? What's that about?"
"That was the joke," he said. "But the jackass who wrote that newscast doesn't know it. How the hell did they get hold of it? And where did they get that cartoon? That was another joke."
"I wonder if Sybille had something to do with it," Valerie said. "She
writes one of their newscasts; I don't remember which. What did you mean about it being a joke?"
Nick leaned against the counter, arms folded. "There's a terrific lady in Sunnyvale named Ramona Jackson, over ninety, full of energy and humor, and she's giving Stanford a chunk of money for a new engineering building. It took her a while to decide—in fact, she was leaning toward Cal Tech—but Lyle Wilson, the chairman of engineering, put on a six-month courtship and convinced her to give it to us. I got in on it when he brought three of us to dinner with her one night; he wanted to show off his top graduate students and have us talk about our projects. Lyle worked like crazy for this building, and a few of us helped him; we made a film of what the department had done in the past, we put together picture books and reports... but mainly it was Lyle. He worked for a solid six months and it paid off."
"But what about the apes.>"
"Monkeys. I don't know who started calling them apes. She has four pet monkeys in her greenhouse and nobody in her family will promise to take care of them. She'll probably give them to the zoo or something, I don't know what she'll do, but at a meeting with her lawyer and university lawyers, and some university people—one of them was a vice-president—Lyle told me when they were disagreeing over details, she said if it kept dragging on she might make the gift contingent on a home for her monkeys, named after the oldest. Who is called Ethelred the Unready, God knows why. She drew a quick sketch and gave it to the vice-president and they all laughed and went on talking."
"And thafs the story that was on the news?"
"Straight. As if it's absolute truth."
"Well, but so what? It's their problem, isn't it? When the real story comes out, they'll look like idiots and they'll have to apologize, and that will be that."
"I don't know." He began to pace around the small kitchen. "She's a very proud lady. Her family's lived here for four generations and she spends a lot of time worrying about reputations, hers and all the Jack-sons', living and dead. She's got a good sense of humor, but how upset is she going to be over this? She could be
She held her smile while her co-anchor said good night and the red light on his camera went off and they knew the commercial was rolling. "That is the damndest story," Dawn said to her co-anchor, and they talked about it for a minute and then forgot it. It was just one of so many that they read and never thought much about, even while they were reading them. It was amusing, but there was no reason to remember it.
But others did. They paid attention, they talked about it, and they remembered it.
"Not true," Nick said, watching Dawn Danvers tell the story of Ramona Jackson. He was making dinner and Valerie was watching him. "God damn it, it was a joke!"
"What was a joke?" she asked idly They had spent the afternoon in bed, the first time in almost a month they had had his apartment to themselves for more than an hour or two, and she was feeling slow and lazy as she sipped her wine. She had barely glanced at the newscast.
"Listen," Nick said and she heard Dawn say, "... let us nonacademics visit the Ethelred Engineering Building and Ape House. It's so much closer, you know, than the San Francisco Zoo."
"Ape house? What's that about?"
"That was the joke," he said. "But the jackass who wrote that newscast doesn't know it. How the hell did they get hold of it? And where did they get that cartoon? That was another joke."
"I wonder if Sybille had something to do with it," Valerie said. "She
writes one of their newscasts; I don't remember which. What did you mean about it being a joke?"
Nick leaned against the counter, arms folded. "There's a terrific lady in Sunnyvale named Ramona Jackson, over ninety, full of energy and humor, and she's giving Stanford a chunk of money for a new engineering building. It took her a while to decide—in fact, she was leaning toward Cal Tech—but Lyle Wilson, the chairman of engineering, put on a six-month courtship and convinced her to give it to us. I got in on it when he brought three of us to dinner with her one night; he wanted to show off his top graduate students and have us talk about our projects. Lyle worked like crazy for this building, and a few of us helped him; we made a film of what the department had done in the past, we put together picture books and reports... but mainly it was Lyle. He worked for a solid six months and it paid off."
"But what about the apes.>"
"Monkeys. I don't know who started calling them apes. She has four pet monkeys in her greenhouse and nobody in her family will promise to take care of them. She'll probably give them to the zoo or something, I don't know what she'll do, but at a meeting with her lawyer and university lawyers, and some university people—one of them was a vice-president—Lyle told me when they were disagreeing over details, she said if it kept dragging on she might make the gift contingent on a home for her monkeys, named after the oldest. Who is called Ethelred the Unready, God knows why. She drew a quick sketch and gave it to the vice-president and they all laughed and went on talking."
"And thafs the story that was on the news?"
"Straight. As if it's absolute truth."
"Well, but so what? It's their problem, isn't it? When the real story comes out, they'll look like idiots and they'll have to apologize, and that will be that."
"I don't know." He began to pace around the small kitchen. "She's a very proud lady. Her family's lived here for four generations and she spends a lot of time worrying about reputations, hers and all the Jack-sons', living and dead. She's got a good sense of humor, but how upset is she going to be over this? She could be
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