Lorri's history

Drinks in hand, the three of you settle back as Lorri takes a long pull of her beer and sighs happily.

"So about four years ago the state started making noises about the lack of diversity at private schools. They were talking about both students and faculty, and this place was pretty much lily white, even more than it is now," she laughs. "The board of regents decided to get out in front of that, and added a scholarship program, offering five fully paid scholarships a year to "academically gifted young women of disadvantaged backgrounds." They made sure that they got a couple of black girls, a couple latinas, like that. They already had few Asians, from wealthy parents, but the colour mix around here got a little less pasty."

"Faculty was a different matter. A lot of parents weren't happy with the idea of a bunch of coloured folks teaching their precious daughters, so the board cast around for a solution. That was me. I think they figured that if they hired a really black teacher, I mean really black, they'd only have to hire one." She takes another pull on her beer and throws her head back with an infectious, earthy laugh. "So here I am, the only ghetto bitch at Pink Rose."

As she's told the story you've noticed that she lost the accent she had when she first talking, her voice now sounding urbane and educated.

"Where are you from Lorri?" you ask.

"San Francisco. My parents are doctors. I went to UC Berkeley then did my Doctorate at MIT. Went to work at Livermore Labs, you know what that is?" She smiles at your nod of understanding, then continues. "My conscience got the better of me, so I went to NASA, but then the program I was working on lost it's funding. I was looking for work, and there aren't a hell of a lot of openings for nuclear physicists with experience in propulsion dynamics, especially when you're a woman AND black, and a girl has to eat. They offered me the job here, and I sniffed around and figured out how bad they needed me, or someone like me, and held them up for every cent I could get."

"So you really are a rocket scientist," you smile.

"Damn straight!" she laughs. "I have feelers out, and I'm interviewing for an associate professorship at Berkeley, so with any luck this will be my last year here and they can go find themselves another house nigger." She grins, watching you as she speaks, and you are very aware of the alert and complex intelligence in her eyes.

"And chemistry?"

"Shit, I know enough about it to teach these dumb white girls everything they'll ever need to know. You probably do too. Most of them just putting in the time while moms and pops keep them out of sight before marrying them off. They got no more need of chemistry, or physics for that matter, than a fish has for a bicycle."

You notice her speech has strayed back into more colloquial tones, and grin at the dichotomy.

"Mason had some difficulty with Valerie Cummins this morning," Donna says with a smile at Lorri.

"Who hasn't had a problem with that snotty bitch? What she do?"

You tell the story of the morning's events while Lorri listens attentively, finishing her beer and sitting back with a shake of her head.

"She tried to pull some shit on me last year. I went East Oakland on the bitch. Told her that if she didn't smarten up I'd have some hard, pipe hittin' brothers pull a train on her and stretch all her little rich girl holes. Since then she's been sweet as pie to me," she chuckles at the memory.

"She's gonna take another run at you," she says with certainty. "First chance you get, slap her down so hard she bounces. You'll only have to do it once."