（Little） Big Man on Campus
(LITTLE) BIG MAN ON CAMPUS
BEANIE
It was the short men who caused all the trouble in the world.
—IAN FLEMING
1976–1978
Beanie Rosen loved Fisher Braverman in a way that defined and redefined her. For the first time in her life, life made sense.
She had first noticed Fish the summer of 1976. He was cute, like Donny Osmond cute, only Jewish, which when you’re thinking about marriage was an important distinction, at least to the Rosens. Though only fifteen, in her mind’s eye Beanie Rosen would one day become Beanie Braverman, living a life of marital bliss in Laurel Canyon because Fish said that was where all the cool musicians lived. She was sure of it.
He was a brilliant musician, or at least he would be, she believed. His dark thick hair framed a dimpled smile, and his Keep on Truckin’ army jacket and black lowrider bell-bottoms were worn in all the right places. He was a year older than Beanie and several inches shorter, but since he had been held back a year, and she had skipped a grade, they were in the same classes and fell into a friendship.
He liked her name, he said, and so she suddenly liked it, too. He was smart, he was talented, and he was short. He liked to say he was five foot eight, but at five foot five Beanie was taller, so she started wearing flats. When she stood beside him, she felt tall—and not just because she was.
By the time they’d started school in the fall, people knew her as his girl, if not his girlfriend. The distinction only bothered her when it was pointed out.
And it was pointed out by one of her skinny stepsisters, Esther. “He’s a dog,” she told her. “He’s messing around with two seniors.”
Beanie rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said, believing in truth that Esther wouldn’t.
Of course, she knew Fish fooled around. Sometimes he’d even tell her with some casual remark that somehow made her feel closer to him. “Donna gives the worst head,” he’d say, and she’d nod, dismissing it-slash-Donna as a random. That’s what he called his hook-ups: “randoms.” They weren’t regulars like Beanie. They didn’t mean anything to him like she did.
And though he never made a pass at Beanie, nor showed any kind of interest in having an intimate relationship, he did give her a stuffed animal holding a heart for her sixteenth birthday. It might as well have been a diamond.
He loves me, she thought. She was his watchguard, his bodyguard, and his constant companion until Shalom Rubin, a transfer from Fairfax, became the goddess of Fish’s unending fantasies.
Her reputation, like her beauty, preceded her. She was a model and an actress and was legitimately famous. “Rumor is, she dated Barry Williams,” Beanie told her friend Elise, who was both slightly cross-eyed and a bit pigeon-toed, which somehow lent her symmetry. It was as if each eye followed the opposing foot.
“Who?” Elise asked, not nearly as vested.
“Greg on The Brady Bunch, ” Beanie told her.
“Wow,” Elise said, impressed. “He’s hot.” Beanie nodded in agreement, but something was deviling her. “Fish looks a little like Barry Williams, only shorter, so…” Beanie trailed off, suddenly concerned.
“So, what?” Elise asked. “You think Shalom will go for Fish Braverman?”
“Maybe,” Beanie said.
Elise looked cross-eyed at her friend, but then again, that’s how she looked at everything. “Barry Williams is gorgeous,” she said, “and Fish, well…” Elise let the silence fill in her feelings.
Still, Beanie decided the best defense was a good offense. The only way to prevent losing Fish was to become the architect of his desires. If he wanted Shalom that badly, she was determined to be the one to deliver. Like a cat who brings a mouse to his master, Beanie knew that if she could make him happy, Fish would recognize, if not how beautiful she was—that would come in time, especially now that she had lost the weight —but how valuable she was. It was a tactical move designed to reinforce the idea that he’d be lost without her. Even if he didn’t want Beanie, he would need Beanie. It’s like the difference between a Snickers bar and air, she thought. You might want a Snickers, but you need to breathe.
“I could get to know her,” she offered one afternoon as Fish stood lusting at Shalom, who seemingly floated in slow motion across the quad, her long feathered blond hair blowing gently in the wind.
He was mesmerized. In truth, so was Beanie.
Shalom Rubin defied the stereotypical makeup of the student body at Sinai High. Everything about her was taut, tan, blond, and Waspy, except she was Jewish, which made her perfect. She looks like Farrah Fawcett, Beanie decided, thinking Shalom could be her younger sister. Her style was free and easy, favoring bell-bottoms and peasant blouses. Defying all dress codes, Shalom refused to wear a bra, proudly displaying her nipples like a Girl Scout badge. Or two. While Farrah’s nipples spoke for themselves on every poster in every bedroom, airport, and mall, Shalom’s—a little less global—announced their presence with equal authority and defiance.
“Fish,” Beanie said, snapping him out of his reverie. He turned. “I could make friends with her. If you want.”
She was half hoping he’d say, “No, Beanie. All I want is you.”
Instead he screwed up his face into what she thought was a cross between gratitude and astonishment. “Would you do that?”
She smiled, nodded, and, gauntlet thrown, sought out the wave that was Shalom Rubin’s friendship with the singular goal of making the boy she loved happy, even if it meant getting him another girl. She was, after all, her father’s daughter.