Free Helen of Pasadena by Lian Dolan Page A

community. You just have no street cred in the real world. Start with the Huntington. You need to get your foot in the door and get some real experience.”
    Among the moms at school and on the sidelines at games, I’d built up a reputation as a Scholar Lite, thanks to my academic past and my hours volunteering at the Huntington. The Huntington Library, Art Collections and Botanical Gardens—the official name, though no one in town ever called it anything but the Huntington—housed one of the finest rare book and document collections in the world, in addition to spectacular gardens and a first-class art and furniture collection. The Huntington was established on the former estate of Henry Huntington, railroad baron and book collector, and his lovely wife, Arabella, philanthropist and visionary garden designer. It stood on a marvelous piece of property on the border of Pasadena and San Marino, a quieter, even higher tax bracket to the south.
    In addition to being a tremendous public space, the Huntington was a world-class research facility, thanks to the rare books and papers in its collection. Only select scholars were granted access to the collections for research. They repaid the Huntington by giving lectures on their esoteric areas of study. I served them tea and cookies.
    Over the past ten years, I’d worked my way up the volunteer food chain, from Preschool Docent to Scholar Hospitality, by virtue of the fact that I was a quasi-academic and about 25 years younger than most of the other volunteers. The lovely retiree volunteers tended to talk the ears off the visiting scholars and curators, so my attentiveness minus the need to tell everyone about my grandchildren made me a favorite to staff the public lecture series. Tea and cookies were always served to those who could attend the midday talks. Sometimes, I was even allowed to introduce the speakers, giving out their long lists of credentials as if I was their equal. I loved it.
    For the mothers at school, I did my own lecture series. I could take an hour-long lecture by a Distinguished Fellow of Historical Minutiae at Impressive East Coast University and boil it down to a couple of salient facts for busy women who didn’t have time to go to talks on a Wednesday afternoon. Sociability in the British Enlightenment ( Who knew the entire study of science started with well-connected British guys who could entertain the ladies with amusing stories of the natural world! ); the Reign of Charles I ( Disastrous king! The George Bush of England . Pious, but bloody. Executed as a result of civil war! ); Money Talks: Commerce, Classics and Taste in Late Imperial China ( Wow, those women of the Ming dynasty were every bit as label-conscious and conspicuously consumptive as the Hollywood wives. Think Late Imperial In Style magazine meets Architectural Digest). Those lectures, and my retelling, kept me intellectually stimulated, staving off the boredom of motherhood. And earned me the nickname “Professor Fairchild” from the Millington mothers.
    In all the years that I’d volunteered at the Huntington, it had never occurred to me to work at the Huntington. Thank you, Elizabeth Maxwell.
    “I’m going to steal that phrase for my interview. ‘No experience but much dedication to the institution,’ that’s me!” I chirped a bit too brightly.
    “Please do.”
    “Can I ask you something?”
    “Sure.”
    “Did you ever consider giving up your job when you had your kids?” I nodded toward the photo of the whole family in the shallow surf in Hawaii. Two adorable girls in hibiscus print suits and Elizabeth in a big floppy hat and pareo. Cute husband, too.
    “My mom was a single mom. I believe in work.”
    “Simply put. Thanks, Elizabeth. I appreciate your advice.”
    “No problem. Will I see you at the book fair?”
    “Maybe. I could be running the development office at the Huntington by then.” I laughed. So did she.
    “Yes, you could.”

    “Mom, what are you doing