Kathy was still single, but completely committed. Most of her friends were political too, like Jean, who was working with her at the Democratic convention in Chicago. Kathy had tried to imagine what her friend Jean must have looked like as a little girl. What she’d pictured was a pair of black patent leather Mary Janes, white ankle socks that were folded over and fit loosely, and a nautical-looking navy-blue suit topped by a straw hat with a black velvet ribbon around it. In such an outfit, Jean would have looked very much herself, and the picture would have been perfect, Kathy had decided, if it had been taken at the time by a fussy maiden aunt with a Brownie camera. Jean still looked the part of an innocent abroad, with her blond pageboy and wide blue eyes set in an ivory cameo of a face. However, her sophomore year in college she had fallen in love with Voltaire, and her involvement with him had led her from skepticism about sorority life at Northwestern to her present full-time commitment to the Eugene McCarthy campaign, where Kathy had met her.
