Possibly because the Doctor put Nina down so often—or possibly because of her guarded upbringing, which had left her unaware of so many things that she came off simple and backward, and with a childish demeanor uncharacteristic of her years—she had trouble making friends at Nautica Fallows. Indeed, her only acquaintance that the Doctor knew of was a shapely blonde named Caitlin Jenkins, whom she sometimes brought over after class to watch TV, try on clothes, or fix snacks in the kitchen while they gossiped in the language of giggles about god knows what. From the little he knew about Caitlin from overhearing their conversations, she was nineteen, and despite having reached this relatively advanced age she was still a junior, like Nina. (He gathered Caitlin had been held back twice to Nina's once.)
Caitlin liked to argue. More than once the Doctor strolled past Nina's bedroom while the girls were in it with the door shut and heard Caitlin hollering firmly for Nina to return a bracelet or quit going through her purse, or he'd catch Nina on the phone pleading defensively over what time she'd said she was coming over.
Though Caitlin was feisty this way she wasn't really threatening. Her lean frame bordered on outright thin, although her bosom swelled disproportionately to her tapered waist—not quite as ample as Nina, she was still, the Doctor guessed, the generous end of a B-cup if not a full C. She also often wore high heels and the kind of jewelry—long, thin silver necklaces with grabbable pendants, hoop earrings, arrays of oversized, clinking bracelets on both wrists—that would make actual fighting cumbersome, almost certainly unwinnable. Even the most pugnacious thing about her—a glittery faux-diamond stud on the left side of her piddly nose—was the sort of ostentatious display of poseur toughness typical of yippy, coiffed lap-bitches whose barks are worse than their bites.
Still, the Doctor didn't mind when Caitlin was around. Even if he didn't much like her, he liked to stare at her whenever he could get away with it while she was at the house. As her jewelry habits might have indicated, young Caitlin took a lot of time and fuss with her appearance and wasn't shy about showing some skin or being stared at. Unlike Nina, though, the Doctor suspected that Caitlin dressed this way not because she was so naïve she didn't know what the fuss was about, but because she sensed it brought her power.
In fact, so worried was he that Caitlin might one way or another—by explanation, example, or direct action—sully Nina's innocence, so remarkable for a girl her age, by teaching her or showing her about sex, that the Doctor thought of trying to forbid Nina from hanging around with Caitlin altogether. After all, the Doctor's plans for Nina ultimately depended on maintaining her ignorance of such matters. (And what plans, mused the Doctor when this thought occurred to him, were these?) But it didn't seem that Caitlin and Nina's friendship would present this sort of threat. If the Doctor overheard Nina apologize to Caitlin for showing up a quarter hour too early or late for something, he also heard Nina nag Caitlin from time to time, though more sadly and less assertively, and this would seem usually to relate to some date Caitlin had made with a larger group of friends and failed to invite Nina to, or had invited her to only to elude her when the time came. Caitlin, the Doctor gathered from this, would only spend time with Nina one on one. Perhaps Caitlin was embarrassed to be seen with Nina, not because the latter girl was unattractive—on the contrary, both these fillies were deliciously comely—but because Nina's personal childishness and awkwardness made socializing hard for her, and the accessorized and popular Caitlin felt she would hold her back.
Still, something about Nina must have amused Caitlin in some way, because her visits weren't infrequent: at least once every other week, sometimes weekly or even more. They even had the occasional sleepover. Those nights he would typically let them alone and retire to his study to read. He made it a point to check in on them from time to time, though; he made a play of familial responsibility, pretending he was trying to see they weren't getting up to any mischief, but really he just liked to peek at the two chicks, particularly since Nina was no more shy around her friend than she was around him and was usually curled up bare-legged on the couch in her virtual state of dishabille. Caitlin, being more worldly, was also more modest, but not much. She was usually done up in denim shorts or tiny skirts and generous complements of the kind of cheesy jewelry favored by mall-hopping teens. For the lecherous man, it was a feast for the eyes.
Typically the girls would wave and offer a friendly hello when the Doctor came by on his evening rounds, but they were too involved in watching TV or giggling over whatever feminine issue de l'heure occupied them to pay him much mind. One night, however, he had poured himself yet another scotch before dropping in on them and when they saw him with the tinkling glass, Nina pointed to it.
"You sure do drink a lot of those!"
Caitlin clapped her hands on her knees and sat upright.
"Yeah, I hope it's okay we say so, Mr. Brownmiller"—she had yet to get it 'round her head he was a doctor—"but it does seem you've always got one."
