“Well, the name Lola has taken on a kind of seductress connotation, or perhaps more accurately that of a young girl that is sexually precocious, thanks to Nabokov’s Lolita, published in the 1950s.” She pauses, I guess waiting for a question or acknowledgement from me, when I offer none, she continues. “Lola was one of the nicknames for Lolita in the book, and Lolita is a well-known diminutive form of Lola. So I suppose when people meet a pretty young girl like yourself and hear that your name is Lola, they have an association with the history and, well, that book and the subsequent pop culture connotations of your name.”
“Is that it? I thought maybe there’d be more to it.”
“Well, it’s also the title of a brilliant song by The Kinks, written in the 1970s,” she offers, smiling.
“Hmmph.”
“You’re disappointed?”
“I don’t know.”
“There’s also a song called Whatever Lola Wants, written for a musical in the 1950s, which has been remade innumerable times…my personal favorite is by Sarah Vaughan,” Elizabeth says, smiling. I’m not interested in any of this, though I already know I’ll be downloading it all to my stolen iPod when I get a chance. She must see my mind wandering because she switches tactics. “The actual meaning of the name Lola is interesting, but I doubt most people know it, so it’s unlikely they’re reacting to that,” she says.
“What’s the actual meaning?”
“Sorrows.”
Something about that word hits me like a brick thrown at my chest.
“Really? Sorrows.”
“Yes. Does that mean something to you?”
“Nah. No. I doubt my mom knew any of this stuff, she wasn’t a big reader or anything, but ‘sorrows’…I can see her naming me sorrow.”
“Why do you think your mother would name you ‘sorrows’?”
“She just probably knew what I was up against. It fits. Honestly? I kind of like my name better now. It makes a lot more sense…and at least I know what people are snickering about. So, thanks.” I stand up to leave.
“Would you like to talk again sometime, Lola? You seem like maybe you have a lot on your mind,” Elizabeth says without getting up from the chair. She seems overly anxious despite herself; she doesn’t want me escaping into the night. I pause with my hand on the door, I’m about to say ‘no’ if only as a big ‘F you’ to her, but suddenly I feel like there’s a lot I want to say.
“Do you know what the name ‘Bonnie’ means?”
“Well, I know it means pretty…but there may be other meanings,” she starts.
“How do you know so much about this?” I ask.
“Just a hobby of mine. I can find out the other meanings for you easily enough…if you can wait just a minute,” she says. I shrug my shoulders; her desperation is showing.
“Sure.” I lean against the closed door and Elizabeth goes to her desk and clicks the mouse to her laptop, types a few things in and looks up at me.
“You know, it may not mean anything. Sometimes, there are no really concrete meanings…and sometimes they’re archaic and strange…Lola has a pretty direct meaning, but they’re not always so direct.”
“Like how?” I ask.
“Well, for example, my name, Elizabeth means ‘God is my oath’…or ‘God is an oath’, or sometimes ‘consecrated to God’”
“Yeah, I have no idea what that means,” I say. She laughs.
“Me either, really,” she says, typing in a few more words and reading the screen for a moment before looking up at me. “Well, it looks like ‘Bonnie’ is either English or Scottish in origin and means pretty, or French in origin and means good and pure of heart,” she says, reading from her screen. The word ‘good’ hits me like another brick in the chest. Of course her name means ‘good’ and mine means ‘sorrows’. Of course.
“Thanks,” I mutter and turn to walk out again.
“You know Lola, there is another meaning for your name, it’s much less common, but some list your name as meaning ‘strong woman’ – maybe your mother knew about that, too.” I pause, hand on the door, unsure what to say.
“Maybe,” I say, turning the knob, intending to leave, but at the last second I hesitate in the doorway. “Thanks Liz.”
She seems to bristle ever so slightly but recovers almost instantly. “Anytime,” she says casually. I can tell she wants to ask me to come back, but she’s smart, she doesn’t push.
“See ya around.” I take off out the door, glad that Jan isn’t there to do any more of her scowling. I’d like to say I won’t be back, but I know I will be. I have a thousand questions and a few new ideas.