Part 13 (2/2)

She cut her head my way, eyebrows raised. ”How the h.e.l.l did you get anywhere in life acting like this? I'm surprised you didn't walk into your job interview and say, 'I know you're looking at another candidate who's probably better, so I guess I'll be leaving now. Sorry to bother you.' Jesus, no wonder the b.i.t.c.h is leaving you. If she had a soul, I'd feel a little sorry for her right now. And you know what a c.u.n.t I think she is.”

I crossed my arms, hugged myself. She kept the place freezing. Mild for her, frigid for the rest of us. ”Sorry. Go on.”

”Let's tell her you want to meet the man face to face before she can see you. You're going to want proof. Tell her as long as you understand how you were tricked, you'll still be willing to accept Carl's offer...if you can be part of the s.e.x club. Whine a bit. It's not fair that Frances got to f.u.c.k around like that and not you. You want a little revenge. Of course, by now, it's not about s.e.x for Frances anymore, so she won't care. In fact, she'll be relieved to know you're that shallow after all.”

”What if he says no?”

”Remember, he thinks this is all your own idea. As long as Frances doesn't know I'm involved...you didn't give the Provost my address yet, right?”

”No. I'm going to give it to Alice after...you know.”

She smiled and moved away from the window. She sat on the couch and stretched her arm across the back, chin held high. ”I would recommend calling him directly instead.”

And she told me why.

I yelled at her for an hour after that, knees shaking, hands trembling, but she convinced me it was the only way. If it didn't work, someone would either die or end up in jail.

After I got the name and number of Don Moose from Alice, I called Pamela, read her both.

”All right. You'll be ready?”

”Yes, just waiting for you.”

I killed some time by going to Half-Price Books and browsing the ever diminis.h.i.+ng poetry shelves, not finding anything very worthy of which I wasn't already aware. So I moved over to paperback mysteries, a genre I wasn't usually fond of, but due to the activity of the past few days I felt a certain kick out of seeing detective t.i.tles and some of the more lurid covers. I picked up a couple of the more vintage-looking, not the pulpiest but certainly not the coziest, on a lark. Maybe they would melt the glacier that had built around the part of my brain that let me write. Sometimes pulp would do that for you.

The girl at the checkout counter looked to be of college age, pierced in her lip, nose, and eyebrow. Hair dyed black with bright yellow tips and cut as if she didn't give a s.h.i.+t. She looked at my choices.

”Hey, wasn't this a TV show? Isn't it like, the 40's or something?”

”I think so, yes.” I remembered, even though I can't say I ever watched it.

She shrugged. ”Yeah, I might have watched it in cla.s.s once. I don't read this sort of thing, but I think my grandma used to.”

Paid her, got some change, smiled, and left. Just in time for my cell phone to ring. Out on the sidewalk, I answered.

Pamela said, ”I'm going to meet with him right now. This sounds like a winner, unless your Provost had time to construct some elaborate prank.”

”All right, so we're clear?”

”Absolutely.”

”I'll be waiting.” I rung off and walked to my car. It was this next part that worried me most.

I made a quick call to Alice and left the message we'd agreed on before driving down to Bloomington, the southern side of the metro area around the airport and the Mall of America, which was an impressive sight even if it did bring with it a sense of fear and loathing about American culture. No matter how often I impressed upon my students the need to get back to basics and think for themselves, I knew in the back of my mind that the Mall was still where they would buy their jeans and shoes. I'd bought several pair of each their myself, along with a nice winter overcoat, before finally shaking myself of the ”convenience versus fairness” debate in favor of fairness.

So I ventured into the world of strip malls, restaurant chains, and middle-of-the-road hotels, one of which was, of course, where we had planned to meet. In fact, it was supposed to be as public and mediocre as possible in order to give the appearance that I had no clue what I was doing. This is what all middle-aged men who hadn't had affairs before thought they were supposed to do. I tried to imagine what would've happened with my favorite student, Nuha, had I gone this route rather than the clumsy and guilt-ridden attempt at oral satisfaction in my own home.

The hotel was big. Sprawling, actually. Right across the road from the mall, almost like one of those hotels you might find right outside the gates of an amus.e.m.e.nt park. A handful of upscale chain restaurants lined the same avenue, not quite fast food but definitely a.s.sembly-line fare. Let's just say Harriet's fabulous steaks would hardly be recognizable to the patrons of one particular western-themed joint.

None of it mattered. It was just something to think about while I parked and made my way inside, checked in under my own name-you couldn't fake it in places like this anymore. They all need a credit card and license. Once I had the key, I told them Alice would be meeting me here, and to please send her around. Then I drove to the farthest entrance from the road and pulled into the spot closest to the door. Well, second closest, as there was a convertible Mustang taking the closest. That wasn't a problem. As long as the handicapped spot across the way was still open, we would be fine. I grabbed the small cooler out of the backseat and headed into the side door. Slid my card through the lock, opened the door, and my room was right around the corner.

Inside the room, I was surprised at the small TV, the remote with electrical tape holding the batteries in. The bed felt like egg cartons and cheap fleece. It had a sliding gla.s.s door that led out to the parking lot. Seemed kind of pointless. I hadn't been into a place like these in years and years. Even the dive hotels of Europe had a scuzzy charm, whereas our chain-hotel boudoir felt like a forgotten display at a cheap furniture store.

Except in the bathroom, where the shower head was huge with a decent number of settings. The soap smelled very nice. The vanity was sleek and modern. So now we knew what the typical middle-cla.s.s road weary travelers wanted most-a good place to shower and s.h.i.+t. Other than that, they were cool with a torturous bed and television set from 1989.

I spread out on the bed. Bounced my a.s.s on it a few times. Very noisy. No doubt that the neighbors would be able to follow along from beginning to end. That is, the ones who weren't out shopping at the mall. I turned on the TV and flipped around until I found HBO, an old movie I couldn't remember, but I already knew how it ended. Weird.

A rustle at the door, metal cranks and clicks. And then a second later, there was Alice, key card in hand. She wasn't smiling, but there was something to her expression-pride, perhaps. She pushed the door closed and stood against it a minute like she was in a movie, hands behind her back, chin tilted low.

I smiled, lifted the bottle of cheap merlot from the cooler at bedside. ”Have a drink with me?”

She curled her lip. ”G.o.d, I hate wine. You didn't have to do that.”

”I just thought...you know. Sometimes, it takes time.”

”Oh, s.h.i.+t, you need a pill for this?”

”No, no, G.o.d no. I'm just saying...” I sat up. What the h.e.l.l was I saying? Because I couldn't say, Here, drink this all down and don't mind the fizzing or the leftover powder in the bottom.

So I said, ”I'm shy. That's all. I like to be, well, it's embarra.s.sing.”

Finally got a smile from Alice, and she stepped away from the door to the foot of the bed. ”Aw, this sounds juicy. You have to tell me now.”

”Okay, but please.” I reached out my hand. She took it, stepped in front of me between my knees. I told her, ”I like to be seduced. And, don't take this the wrong way, but I think that's not going to be a problem for you. You seem very forward.”

”You're saying I'm pushy?”

”Wait, that's not it. I mean...a strong woman is s.e.xy, you know? I like how upfront you are about it.”

Which was a total lie, especially in Alice's case. She had ”p.o.r.n-appeal”. The ”f.u.c.k me now” thing is probably great at first, until you're in the middle of it and you think about how easy Alice is, and how it's not really that she's into you or anything. It's just that she's a nympho and you're a notch on the bedpost. Maybe that's good for the fraternity boys, but I preferred coming to it slowly, where both people have taken steps until you meet in the middle and feel comfortable knowing that when you wake the next morning, not only would you share an intimate breakfast, but you might even have another roll in the hay before you go your separate ways-to meet again later that evening.

Thinking about that made me wonder how Octavia spent last night.

”Sweetie,” Alice said, taking a step back. ”I understand. Really. I do. But you should know I don't have all day. This whole thing for me, it's a big journey. I want to experience so much in my life, and believe me, this has been an eye-opener.”

”Okay, but at least sit and talk a few minutes. Talk about likes, dislikes. I don't want it to be five awkward minutes of, um, whatever.”

She c.o.c.ked her hip, planted her hands on either side, which was quite s.e.xy in her slinky dress, sleeveless, gray, hanging at mid-thigh. ”Something about you, the sensitive poet type. I've read your work. It's l.u.s.ty and sweaty and all about souls touching and that sort of c.r.a.p, which is beautiful, don't get me wrong. Just...f.u.c.king gorgeous, that book of yours, the award winner? What was the name?”

”Yeah, a chapbook contest, nothing major. It was The Intensity of Our Intentions.”

She shook her head. ”Blew me away. I mean, I'd seen you around campus, but the way you carry yourself. Kind of cute, but definitely that skinny, quiet, tweed and corduroy thing going on. I couldn't fit the two together-the one who wrote those raw poems versus you. Like you're a hidden Casanova or something. I'm dying to find out. That's why I'm helping you. Believe me, if I thought you could really hurt Carl with all your detective work, I wouldn't be here right now.”

I shrugged. ”I had to try.”

<script>