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who smiled a lot, said nothing, and drove erratically. It became obvious as we walked over the grounds toward the dormitory building that the advanced ages of the gatekeeper and driver was no coincidence. The gardeners, handymen, and kitchen help were all in the Medicare class.
    “Maybe they just look old,” Rachel offered.
    “No, they’re old,” I said, “and that electric thing around the grounds is an electric chastity belt.”
    I was right on both counts. There would be no virginity lost here if the airline had anything to say about it.
    We were greeted in the dormitory lounge by a pleasant young girl who walked us to the second floor and showed us to Room 16. It was tastefully decorated and at first glance seemed large enough for the two of us. A second glanced ruined that illusion.
    “Five beds?” we asked in chorus.
    “Yes. Five of you will share this room,” confirmed our guide.
    “That’ll be nice,” Rachel said.
    “Wonderful,” I agreed dubiously.
    “You’ll love it,” our guide said with a strong note of finality. “The bathrooms are down the hall.”
    Rachel and I spent the next hour lying on our beds and talking about why we wanted to become stewardesses. We talked about the glamour of flying away to strange places. We talked about being away from home and the men we’d meet because we were living away from home. We expounded on the challenge of serving a nation’s traveling public . . . and about the men who made up the bulk of this public.
    I started to tell my story about Henry and his Braille line when the door opened and in walked the third member of our cozy little room. She was taller than we thought you could be to become a stewardess, thin, and dressed in what had to be a $400 suit. Her hair was out of Glamour, and she struck one of those ridiculous, awkward go-go poses the models all love to use these days.
    “Hellooooooo,” she said with a nasal whine, her hand professionally on her hip.
    “Hi,” we chirped back. “I’m Trudy and this is Rachel.”
    “Delighted, I’m sure.” There was no way to like this girl, with her phony voice and gestures.
    She looked slowly around the room and turned to the smiling girl guide who had brought her to the door. “I’m afraid I just don’t understand. I assumed a private accommodation.”
    “I’m sorry, Cynthia,” the guide replied, “but there are no private rooms at the school. You’ll share a room with four other girls. These are two of your roommates.”
    “Roommates? How quaint.”
    “Well,” Rachel said with a sweep of her hand, “it’s not much but we’ll all manage, I guess.”
    “It’s absolutely vulgar,” was Cynthia’s reaction. “I think I’ll nap.”
    She started to unbutton her suit jacket and then suddenly realized we were in the room. It seemed difficult for her to comprehend we were still standing there as she undressed. We just ignored her and flopped back on our beds. She got down to her slip and placed her pale, skinny frame on the bed furthest from ours. She fell asleep and snored loudly.
    Cynthia had been asleep about fifteen minutes when the door opened again and in walked Betty O’Riley. She was undoubtedly the sexiest girl we’d ever seen. She was made up of a series of soft, full curves, each straining to break through her shocking pink dress. We introduced ourselves over the noise of Cynthia’s snoring and within minutes, Betty had stripped down to nothing and had climbed between the sheets of the fourth bed.
    “Ah always sleep in the nude,” she said with a naughty wink. “Hope y’all don’t mind.”
    “She might,” Rachel said, pointing to Cynthia on her bed.
    “She looks like a boy sleepin’ there. There’s not much to her, is there?”
    “I think she’s very rich,” I offered.
    “Ah hope so,” said Betty. “It’s her only chance.”
    The fifth member of our room didn’t show up until after dinner. We managed to wake Cynthia, who declined dinner, so the three of us