Part 8 (1/2)

4.

Friday morning the hot spell eased. Liddy lounged in bed, reading and taking notes on the laptop she'd bought with the advance against expenses that writer Dana Moon had given her.

Robyn had said she was useless, but she was going to prove the b.i.t.c.h wrong. And prove her parents wrong, too, and several professors, as well as Miss Hoagie, her third-grade teacher, who had written, ”Liddy's work would be excellent if she finished it.”

She had an agreement with Dana Moon to provide no more than 400 pages about the inner workings of a teaching hospital and the obstacles a female doctor would face upon becoming its chief admin-istrator. Liddy was starting with the more interesting tangent of women in medicine. Somewhere along the way she would get inside the hospital, preferably without becoming a patient.

Her mother hadn't wanted to believe in the job. ”How can anyone want to pay so much for what will take you just a couple of months to do?”

49.

”I think she understands that boiling down all that information to four hundred pages is where the real work is. Anyone can gather up facts.” She had shrugged. ”Professor Haughton recommended me.”

The letter of recommendation was one of the high points of Liddy's varied and lengthy collegiate career. Though her ambitions as a student had wandered from English to public administration, sociology to physical education, she'd managed to impress more than one instructor across disciplines with her ability to quickly process vast quant.i.ties of information and regurgitate it in an organized, succinct fas.h.i.+on. She'd gone to college to learn, not to become.

Robyn Vaughn, one-time visiting lecturer at Cal in women's studies, had said she liked Liddy's bullet points. She'd said it again later that evening, with that cheap s.e.xy laugh, while caressing Liddy's nipples. They'd been standing at the end of an aisle in the used bookstore when Robyn had surrounded Liddy with that perfume. How must she have looked for Robyn to have realized she could touch her that way within minutes of meeting outside cla.s.s? The scent's effect on her had always been Pavlovian. She smelled it, she got wet.

”f.u.c.k and f.u.c.k it, that's enough of that.” Liddy set the laptop to one side before she gave into the temptation to hurl it against a wall.

No more thinking about Robyn. She was done with that.

”A dojo, that's what you need. Find a cla.s.s, a sparring partner.

Though I pity my partner in this mood.”

She was halfway through her shower when she realized she was talking to herself. Okay, she needed to get out.

The Golden Dragon Martial Arts Academy looked prosperous enough. Although the mats and equipment had a well-used look, none of them were threadbare, which was encouraging. The only people in martial arts who made real money at it were in the movies, but good instructors, in her experience, had no trouble keeping enough students to provide the basic necessities.

50.

”I'm only here for the summer, and I'm worried I'll get out of shape,” she concluded, after stating her current rank and past studies for the benefit of the man seated at the small desk.

It wasn't until the white-clad instructor stood up that she saw the red and black belt he wore. She had not expected to find someone of that rank in the middle of nowhere. What next, a bona fide red belt in Iowa f.u.c.king City? She'd yet to meet one in Berkeley.

Sensei Kerry looked her up and down. ”Did you want to stay in shape or begin your progress from brown to black?”

”Stay in shape,” Liddy admitted. ”I'm not certain it's in the cards for me to be a black belt.”

He smiled in the way of every sensei she had ever met, male or female. ”It's not a matter of chance-”

”Chance is an excuse for lack of focus, I know.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, then bowed out of habit. ”I apologize, sensei.”

He smiled and bowed slightly to accept her apology. ”There is a cla.s.s for purple and brown on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at seven.”

”Do you teach it?”

”There are also two a.s.sistants.”

Remembering her manners, she asked meekly, ”Would you do me the honor of allowing me to join your cla.s.s?”

Again, the man disappeared into the mystery of a sensei. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties-only ten years her senior at most- but all senseis specialized in that remote air of a sage. ”A brief test will be necessary.”

”I have my gi, sensei, so at your convenience, I am ready.” She felt a part of herself relax. This, at least, was familiar.

”Five minutes,” he said, pointing to one of the square mats, then he left her to change and warm up.

She'd tried to work out after Robyn left, but Robyn had taken a few cla.s.ses with her, leaving that musky smell impossibly in the changing room. She knew it was all in her head that she could still smell it, but she had not been able to shake it. It had been two 51 months since she'd been to her cla.s.ses. Another thing in her life she hadn't finished. Another thing that Robyn had managed to take away.

Well, at least she could stay in shape here. Her gi was a little more snug around the waist than it had been. Who would have thought Iowa City had a world-cla.s.s anything besides drunken frat boys to offer?

Ignoring the few other students who were practicing with targets and pads, she ran through a few forms, then went to the mat the sensei had indicated, and knelt with her back to the center. Deep, calming breathing was easier than it had been in months.

Permission to spar came promptly and she squared off, aware that she was, indeed, being tested. It quickly became apparent that Sensei Kerry's belt was not a fake. His stance and blocking invited her to throw punches and level kicks at him that were well within her skills.

As her strength and ingenuity waned, his mastery became more apparent. She was tested to her limit to parry his carefully conceived attacks.

She was pouring sweat after only a few minutes had elapsed. But she felt alive. She found herself grinning as she rolled off the floor from evading a kick and had the satisfaction of a returned smile from the sensei.

”You've had a good teacher,” he acknowledged.

”You honor a humble student.” She gasped for breath and added belatedly, ”Sensei.”

”I would enjoy learning from you,” he replied, then dropped his guard to invite a series of jabs.

The feeling of intense focus was welcome. She loved karate and she was not going to let Robyn f.u.c.king Vaughn take it away. When the sensei invited another round of punches she twirled into an unexpected kick. She wasn't surprised when he blocked her, but she successfully evaded his counterpunch.

”Enough,” he declared. They bowed respectfully to each other, and Liddy stripped off her sparring gloves. ”Whatever it was that 52 motivated you at the last, that is what you will need more of to move up to black belt. But I believe you can do it.”

”I wish I was going to be here long enough, sensei.” To her surprise she felt a small amount of regret that the end of July would arrive too soon when it came to the Golden Dragon.

”We will see what you can do while you are with us.” He bowed again and became a businessman, proffering forms and requesting a credit card.

Back in the Hummer, Liddy grinned and turned up the radio. A tuneful song she didn't know explained that it took a little bit of this and a little bit of that. The sky was richly blue and Iowa f.u.c.king City wasn't so small after all.

She cruised into the Wal-Mart lot and shoehorned the Hummer into a parking s.p.a.ce under the only trees. Sometime later she maneuvered her cart full of household essentials into what seemed to be the shortest line. As she reached for a tin of Altoids she recognized the voice of that stalker, Ellie. Swear to freakin' G.o.d, this town was tiny.