What you don't know, can be taught to you.

 
Gayle checked the address on the slip of paper he held again. Four thirteen University Way. “Hmm,” he said. The advertisement had said nothing about the room being in a fraternity house, but the letters above the number on the house were Greek. Theta Gamma Gamma, he was pretty sure, from seeing the symbols in math textbooks.

The house had probably started out as a mansion, two-and-a-half stories in a late Georgian-style with an attic and what looked like a partial basement. From the number of windows, there might be eight or more bedrooms upstairs, with more in the attic.

Red brick with black and white trim and slate-blue roof tiles, a wide porch framed by columns in front with two balconies above. No garage unless it was a separate building off an alleyway in the back, but a small gazebo occupied a side yard. Gardens were visible in the gap between the little building and the main house.

He shrugged. If they were advertising rooms to let, they must have more than needed for the members, and he was having no luck finding another rental within convenient distance to the university.

An older woman answered the door. Her golden hair had mostly gone to silver, but her eyes were still bright blue in a still youthful face, and her body in the green paisley housedress was generously formed if not quite plump. “Yes?” she said when he inquired about the room. “But I’m expecting a young woman to apply.”

“I’m Gayle Rogers Summerfell,” he said, blushing. “Uh, I did say in my application letter that I was male.” This had happened to him before, with a name like Gayle and particularly with the Y-spelling. He ought to be used to it, but it sill embarrassed and annoyed him.

“Oh, I’m sure I would have remembered that,” the woman said. “This is a sorority house. I’m the house mother, Mrs. Hollander, Frances Hollander.” She suddenly dimpled, looking a decade younger at least. “The girls call me Miz Frankie and sometimes I’m such a goof.” She had a faint accent he couldn’t place and a sometimes odd way of phrasing things.

But Gayle had to smile. “I’ve looked all over the neighborhood around the school. You’ve got the only rental open this close to the start of semester. I sent you a check for a deposit.”

“I know,” said Miz Frankie. She sighed. “And I’ve already deposited it.” She opened the door wider. “Well, come on into the parlor,” she said, stepping out of the way. “We’ll work something out.”

“Uh,” Gayle stepped inside. A sorority? Would they be able to rent a room to him? Wouldn’t someone want to veto such an idea? In 1957, a man living in what was essentially a women’s dormitory would be a scandal waiting to happen. But the door was open, and Miz Frankie seemed optimistic, so he stepped in and followed her through the short entryway, which was a little like an internal porch.

The parlor itself was a large room just through the entry and might be twenty by sixteen with a few nooks adding a bit more floor space. A staircase curved upward from the right-hand wall and double doors opened to the left. Several more doors led off at various places, one just under the stairs near him.

Miz Frankie was talking, approaching the door. “We have a basement room, it’s a bit of a mess, and none of the girls want it. But we thought we might find another girl, outside the sorority, to rent it to. Hmm?” She opened the door revealing a small landing and a passage down to the left, deeper under the house.

Gayle felt a bit of hope. She wouldn’t be showing him this unless she really thought she could rent to him, would she?

The woman pulled on a light switch, illuminating a narrow staircase descending at a sharp angle into dimness. “The stairs are sturdy, but you should hold the railing. Some people get dizzy because they’re so steep.” She led the way, and Gayle followed, his hope rising as they descended.

“It’s an odd space,” Miz Frankie said. “There’s a tub down here but no toilet, so you would have to use the guest facilities off the parlor upstairs.” She pulled another light switch revealing the basement room.

“I see,” Gayle commented. Yes! He had a room, and he would be able to attend college and get a student deferment which would keep him out of the draft, which was the whole point of going to college in the first place. Gayle didn’t think he would do well in the army, and he didn’t intend to have to find out. There was no war going on, why were they still drafting people anyway?

He’d missed a bit of the house mother’s spiel.

“No cooking allowed but you have a small refrigerator down here, and the room comes with ten meals a week: breakfast Monday to Saturday at seven, and dinner Monday to Thursday at five. Served in the dining room upstairs. The rest of your meals are up to you. You may use bread and condiments from the house for your lunches if you are home.”

She smiled. “The girls often cook up something for weekend dinners and Sunday brunch, and I’m sure they would share with you if you add in your tuppence.”

“T-tuppence?” Gayle stammered.

“Just an expression, contribute your share.” Miz Frankie waved vaguely. “Those arrangements would be between you and the girls, but they are allowed to use the kitchen as long as everything is replaced and cleaned up.”

“Oh,” he nodded. He looked around the room, and Miz Frankie got out of his way so he could take a close look.

A sizeable old-fashioned frame bed took up much of the space right in the middle of the room. An armoire in one corner stood next to a dresser bearing a large mirror and a lamp at each end of it. Another corner held a table with two chairs and a small apartment-style refrigerator.

When he moved into the room, he discovered that the space under the stairs had a curtain closing it off, concealing a genteel, claw-footed, porcelain and cast-iron bathtub. A little short for someone five-foot-ten, but he had used smaller tubs. It wasn’t a lot of room, but he didn’t need much more than a place to sleep and study enough to pass his classes.

“I’ll take it,” he suddenly offered.

MIz Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’ve paid $80 already, two months worth with one held in reserve as deposit. So another $40 owed October first? That’s including the meals.”

“Okay,” he agreed. It wasn’t that expensive for a room only blocks from the college.

“There are two washers in the utility room attached to the garage at the back of the property. Lines to hang your clothes between there and the garden. There’s a signup sheet to reserve the washers on a hook back there, too.”

He hadn’t thought of laundry, but he nodded.

Miz Frankie looked him over again, from brown crew-cut to chambray shirt to dungaree pants to white high-tops. “We’ve rented this room to young men before but this being a sorority house, we’ve developed some rules to protect the reputations of the girls. You see?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“The house is locked from 10 p.m. To 6 a.m. But your curfew will be 6 p.m.; we don’t want any men seen going in or out after that. If you’re not inside by the end of the dinner hour, weekends included, you will not be allowed to enter. Understand?”

“Uh,” Gayle murmured. “What-what would I do if I’m locked out?”

“There’s a flophouse down the street, by the highway. Fifty cents a night, so you won’t have to sleep rough.” She clarified when he looked confused. “Outdoors, you won’t have to sleep outdoors.”

“Oh, right,” he said. “I’ll try not to have to resort to that.”

“Good thought,” she agreed. “It doesn’t have the most savory repute.”

He blinked but let that pass as being clear enough. Looking around the room again, he noticed something else. “No windows?” he asked.

“No,” she agreed. “You’re directly under the middle of the house, nearly. But there are two airshafts.” She showed them to him, one beside the tub leading through the wall to an opening near the entry, she said. The other was above the refrigerator, connecting with the airshaft for the kitchen upstairs.

“The furnace is behind that wall, too,” she noted. “It’s cool enough down here in warm weather, and I think you’ll find it warm and toasty in winter.”

The lack of windows bothered him for a moment, but he shrugged it off. “I like it, Mrs.-uh, Miz, uh?”

She showed her dimples again. “You can call me Miz Frankie, just like the girls do. Oh! The school is closed half of December, but you’re welcome to stay here, and at any rate, we charge for the full month. Semester ends in January, so new arrangements may be made starting February, but the offer will be the same.”

“Good,” said Gayle, stepping into the room to look around again. He had only a few things to move in with him stored at a hotel and would have a few more shipped from his aunt’s house. A pattern on the floor disappearing under the bed caught his attention. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Just an old mosaic one of the previous tenants worked on. But one other thing,” Miz Frankie said. “No moving the furniture. Well, you can’t move things anyway, it’s all fastened to the floor. Vin soir, you know.”

Gayle nodded though he didn’t speak French at all. He didn’t speak or read Greek, either, and so did not understand the motto that had been clearly written above the front door. Θα γίνουμε γυναίκες.

*

Miz Frankie watched the young man scurry away, satisfied. He was as perfect a candidate as the House could hope for. He even had a good name. The girls would have their semester project.