Chapter Two. Betty, 1964
CHAPTER TWO
“The investigation of extra-sensory perception at Duke University … has come to include well over ninety thousand trials.”
—Dr. J. B. Rhine, PhD, head of the Duke Parapsychology Laboratory
Betty Sadler applied a fresh coat of Revlon’s Berry Bon-Bon lipstick as she hummed along to the Marvelettes record spinning on the turntable. The pot roast in the oven smelled fabulous, and she’d already set the Sears dining table with her pink-and-white wedding china.
Make your home a welcoming haven and make yourself as pretty as a picture when your husband walks in after a hard day’s work! a recent article in Women’s Weekly advised.
Betty was mixing two Manhattans in a silver shaker—A cold drink is a sure way to warm your man’s heart—when she heard the front door open.
“Darling? I’m home.” Those simple words from her husband—her husband!
—sent Betty’s heart fluttering as she rushed to greet Douglas.
He dropped his briefcase and cradled her face in his hands.
The way he drank her in as he stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs before leaning down to kiss her made her body go weak.
They’d gotten married eight months ago, just after her nineteenth birthday, and Betty had never felt happier.
“What did you do today?” Douglas asked as they sat in the living room with their cocktails.
The cabinet console turntable dropped the next record, playing the catchy notes of “Love Me Do” by the Beatles, one of Betty’s favorite bands—especially since Douglas looked a bit like Paul McCartney, the handsomest Beatle.
“After class I met Marilyn and Babs for a sandwich, then popped into the market. I’m almost out of Ajax and tomorrow’s my laundry day.” She frowned. “Is your drink alright, darling?”
“It’s perfect.” Douglas finally took a sip. “I’m a bit distracted. Work was interesting today.”
“Your work is always interesting.” Betty smiled and stood up. “Why don’t I give you a moment alone with your thoughts while I check on dinner?”
As she stirred the green beans on the stovetop, she glanced over at Douglas.
The intent look on his face—his dark brows knitted together, his eyes faraway—was the same one he’d worn when they’d met the previous fall on the Marquis University campus.
He’d been so lost in thought he’d bumped against her as they passed each other on a walking path.
“I’m sorry!” Betty had blurted instinctively.
“It was my fault. Forgive me,” Douglas had replied.
The Virginia campus looked especially beautiful that afternoon, its blue-gray stone buildings adorned with gothic touches like arches, finials, and gargoyles.
The surrounding trees were tipped with orange and crimson, and students milled about, the girls in pretty skirts and dresses, the boys in letterman sweaters and white button-down shirts with skinny ties.
A light wind swept around them, sending leaves swirling through the air. Like a scene from a movie, Betty had thought as she’d stared up at Douglas.
“Are you a college girl?” he’d asked.
She’d nodded. “I’m in my second year. And you?”
“I’m earning a PhD,” he’d replied. “I work in the Trimble Institute.” Everyone on campus knew that inside the Department of Psychology building, researchers were doing extraordinary work, testing the psychic capabilities of the human mind.
“You work with Dr. Trimble? How fascinating!”
He’d cleared his throat, looking the tiniest bit nervous. And Betty knew with a swift certainty that he was going to ask her out and change her life forever.
Now Betty turned down the heat on the green beans and returned to sit next to Douglas, quietly waiting until he was ready to converse again.
“I tested a volunteer who did well with the Zener cards today,” he finally said. “But not well enough for Dr. Trimble’s purposes.”
“Zener cards? What are they?”
“They were developed right here at Marquis. Each card has one of five symbols. I held up the cards while the subject tried to intuit which symbols were on them.”
“And people can actually do this well?”
“Some better than others. Dr. Trimble’s theory is that certain extraordinary abilities exist naturally in a tiny section of the population.
Like the musicality of Dean Charles, or a mint quarterback’s arm, or the writing of a Fitzgerald.
Dr. Trimble is seeking the cream of the crop, the chosen few who have innate psychical ability. ”
Betty reached for a Lucky Strike from her pack on the table and Douglas leaned forward, pulling his silver lighter out of his breast pocket. She inhaled as he lit her cigarette, then said, “Tell me, what are the symbols on the cards?”
Douglas smiled. “How about I show you instead?”
Inside his briefcase was a pack of twenty-five, each printed with either a circle, a cross, three wavy lines, a square, or a star. “What’s interesting about these symbols is each has one more line than the other—the circle has one line, the cross has two, and so on.”
“Clever,” Betty replied.
Douglas shuffled the cards. “How about I test you?”
She batted her hand at him. “Don’t be silly.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.” Douglas held up a card with its back to her.
“Okay, fine. Let’s see … a circle?”
He flipped it over, revealing a square.
“Try again.”
“A star?” It was a circle.
She giggled. “I’m hopeless.”
“Let’s call those practice,” Douglas said. “Take a deep breath. We find subjects do better when they’re completely relaxed and highly focused.”
“Oh, Douglas, I’m not any good at this. Shall we go eat dinner?”
“Won’t you try for me again? Close your eyes and take a moment before you answer this time.”
He held up another card. Her eyes drifted shut as she let her mind play with the five possible symbols, imagining them lined up in a row. Her interior world tunneled into that singular focus.
“Wavy lines.” She kept her eyes closed. “A star … a cross … a squa—no, another star.”
“Are you peeking?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Of course not.”
Douglas shuffled the remaining cards, then picked up the top one. “Keep going.”
By the time she guessed the final card, the record had ended and the room was silent. The ashtray held a snake of gray from her forgotten cigarette, and it didn’t look like Douglas had taken another sip of his drink.
“How did I do?” she asked.
“It’s too soon to say.” Douglas placed the Zener cards on the coffee table, tapping the edges to align the stack.
“Make sure to put those back in your briefcase,” Betty said. “You don’t want to forget them tomorrow.”
Douglas was looking at her, but his mind seemed elsewhere again. “It could be luck.” His voice was so quiet she could barely make out the words.
Betty reached for his hand and tugged him to his feet. “You’re in for some luck, too. I made ambrosia salad for dessert.”
She chatted gaily while they ate, trying to find a topic to engage Douglas, but none took hold.
When she finished clearing the table and washing the dishes, she came into the living room to see Douglas on the couch again, shuffling the cards.
She stopped short, a strange sense of foreboding gripping her.
“Betty, come here,” Douglas instructed her. “I’d like to test you again.”