Messalina: Devourer of Men (27 page)

I see more cameras flash and I just want to drop dead. Turning around, she blasts him.

“Jared Alistair Delaney, didn’t your mama never tell you to give a woman enough time to dress for a function?”

“No, Talley. She didn’t.”

Even I know Talley made a mistake referring to his parentage, but she blows it off.

“No matter. You know now,” she says and strokes my hair. “Come on, Little Eva, let me introduce you to the people.” She leads me away and Jared brings up the rear, but I know he’s pissed from the set of his mouth.

Despite my wanting to do otherwise, Talley keeps us there for nearly an hour. I make pleasant conversation with the social elite, score some points for being an academic if not a fashion plate, and leave Jared to do his own mingling.

I am wiped out. As I struggle to look interested as some blue-haired woman talks to me about varicose vein surgery, Jared comes to my side.

“Ready to go?”

I nod, then to the older woman, I say, “I’m sorry, but will you excuse me?”

“Certainly, my dear.” She turns and picks up the conversation with Talley and another man as if I never existed.

The crowd has thinned considerably and Jared takes my hand, quickly leading the way. When we get outside, it’s chilly from a light rain and I’m freezing in my sleeveless dress. Jared takes off his blazer and wraps it around my shoulders. I shiver, but when I inhale his Obsession cologne, it warms me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice full of concern.

I just pull the blazer tighter around me and close my eyes, trembling from both the cold and pent-up emotions. The car finally arrives and Jared hurries me into it. After putting on the seat belt, I turn in my seat so my back is to him, my eyes still closed. He turns on the heater and I feel the car pull away.

We ride back to his house in silence and when he parks the car, I don’t wait for him to open my door as he likes to do, but get out on my own and wait for him by the front door. Giving me a quick, worried glance, he puts the key in the lock.

I go straight to his bedroom, toss his blazer on the bed, go to the wardrobe where I have a robe and nightshirt stored, and get in bed. Meanwhile, he stands inside the bedroom door watching me with a frown on his lips, like he has something to frown about!

He hasn’t been snubbed and insulted all evening.

Chapter thirteen

“Love Bizarre”

News that I’m dating a man with a reputation has followed me to work.

I try very hard to keep my private life separate from work, especially when I was going to the theater, and apart from Glynnis, no one knew about Jared.

That is until the Sunday edition of
The Rocky Mountain News
prints a photo from the Ulterior Motive Convention with the caption:

Artist Jared Delaney and friend Evadne Cavell smile at a private joke with businessman and arts patron Tony Lobos. 

This reminds me of my need to kill Tony.

He knows everyone associated with the local press. I don’t usually pay attention to the entertainment or business news. I guess I have to now.

The snapshot caught the moment Jared tickled me. I admit, I do look good and smiling makes me look cute and bubbly in a pinup-girl sort of way. Jared is roguishly handsome with his head tilted and his hair falling over his right eye. Whoever took it must’ve used a long lens, because it’s close up and I don’t remember being blinded by the flash. But the fact that someone captured what was, in reality, a very awkward situation and preserved it on film means the snapshot permanently records a bittersweet memory. It didn’t make the rest of my weekend with Jared go any better, either. In the end, I accepted his apologies and promises not to spring surprises on me in the future.

When I came into my office today, I found the page, the photo, and even the whole paper left on my desk. Some caring individual even put it up on the refrigerator in the faculty lounge.

“Our little celebrity,” Glynnis teases when she sees me. “Does Jared have a brother? Older, younger, it doesn’t matter.”

Sitting at my desk having lunch, I have lots on my mind. The scandal concerning my former colleague, Professor Terrance Hyde, has reached new levels.

The student he got pregnant is suing him and the college. Meanwhile, Hyde is suing the college for breach of contract or some other kind of bullshit. This nonsense has been cooking for months on a low boil, but now the big cheese himself, Dean J. Paul Mathis, has just informed me that I might have to make a statement. Apparently, I am on both the college’s and Hyde’s list of possible character witnesses.

“Prayerfully, Evadne, neither one of us will have to call on you,” Dean Mathis said when I was summoned to his office after my morning class. “I just wanted you to know and apologize for putting you in such a situation.”

Prayerfully, he says. I roll my eyes and mull this over while nibbling on my ham sandwich.

“Hello, Eva.”

I snap back to reality and see Neil Hollister standing before my desk; his lazy smile is charming but off-putting.

“Can I help you, Mr. Hollister?”

He hesitates a moment, not used to my change in attitude. Usually, I call my students by last name or tagged with “Mr.” or “Ms.,” but drop the formality and shift to first names when they take more than one of my classes. Neil falls into the latter category since he’s not only my aide but has signed up for my Women in Modern Literature class this semester. But like I said, today, my thoughts are not within these four walls.

“You said to drop by during lunch and do some work.”

“Oh, yes, I did. Help yourself.”

Neil has been hanging tough ever since I lived up to my promise and treated him to a drink at the pub. I proved I could handle as much lager as he and then some. Now he seems more determined than ever to show me how manly he is. It’s not that I doubt he’s a man—more of a manchild, really—but he has his share of groupies to glam with.

I watch him from a distance as he sits at the desk on the other side of the office. I look down. My giant desk calendar is stained with meals past and my little doodles. A brass paperweight with the insignia of my alma mater, CU Boulder, does a lousy job weighing down a stack of papers. A desk lamp that belonged to my grandfather when he was a school principal sits in the middle of the far edge of the desk. It’s an art deco piece with a brass clock and a pair of lounging hounds on either side of the clock face.

Amongst the usual desk clutter are photographs of my family. A hinged picture frame holds two pictures of Ana and me in our cap and gowns. The one on the left is us in high school and the one on the right is from college. We are in the exact same pose. There would have been three, but the only reason there isn’t one of us from our postgraduate ceremony is because we went to different universities.

But there is a new addition to my little photo gallery and that’s a shot of Jared and me. It was taken by Alex at the youth center when Jared gave his art workshop as promised. It was a very hot day in September and I wore an off-the-shoulder peasant top and low slung Capri pants. So low, in fact, you could see the head of the J.E.T. black cat poking up from my waistband. Jared wore an old T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He had just finished playing basketball with some of the kids and stood behind me with his arms about my middle and his head on my shoulder. The J.E.T. black cat on his upper left bicep is in plain view. The way Jared’s arms wrap around me gives my bosom a boost. Neil comes across with some files and I catch his eyes lingering a bit too long on that particular photo.

“I saw you and your boyfriend in the paper the other day.”

“Yes.” I grimace. “I’m afraid everyone has.”

“So.” He gestures towards the picture frame. “You and your boyfriend have matching tattoos?”

I make a noncommittal sound, throw away my sandwich bag, and give him a smile that maybe suggests more warmth than necessary, but anything to change the topic.

He squints at me. “Are you alright, teach? You seem tired.”

“I’m fine. What’s up?”

“I have an assignment and I need some help.” He takes a seat on the edge of my desk. “But I think I have my topic.”

“Good. What is it?” I cross my legs and lean forward, thankful I’m wearing slacks since Neil doesn’t hide his attraction to my legs.

“Sexual Roles of Women in Early 20
^th
Century Literature.”

“That’s pretty broad, Neil. Can you reel it in a bit?”

“Certainly. I was thinking of focusing on Colette,” he says with a smile. “I’m intrigued by her portrayal of working, single women.”

The boy has been doing his homework. He’s trying to get a rise out of me. I have often said to my class that Colette is one of my favorite writers and I incorporated some of her work in my thesis on a topic not too different from the one he suggests.

“You know, Neil, I’ve done a lot of research along similar lines. Do you realize what that means?”

He looks me straight in the eye. “That you’ll be riding me hard on this?”

The corner of my mouth twitches as I try not to smile, but I think my eyes give me away, because he grins and his brown eyes make a soft, sensual proposition.

“Those are your words, Neil, but the sentiment is correct.”

“I look forward to it.”

“That makes two of us.”

His eyes widen once again, showing that if what I just said can rattle him, then he still has some cool points to earn. I am used to sparing with more experienced players. On the other hand, I’m willing to play this little game with him, for now.

A girl’s gotta have her fun, doesn’t she?

* * * *

“Damn, Eva. Do I need to put you under lock and key, or something?”

Jared lets me sample a spoonful of stew he made for our dinner and I laugh. He’s at my place tonight because his house is getting its yearly pest treatment. Now that I’m back at work we tend to only have time for phone sex during the week but make up for it on the weekends.

“Oh, please. Neil Hollister is a wannabe stud muffin who thinks that just because his great-uncle is chancellor all he has to do is charm his way to a degree.”

“You mean ya’ll spoil him.”

“No, we don’t.” He’s pressed one of my buttons now. “Contrary to what you think, not everyone in higher education gets caught up in the politics.”

“Just the ones with all the power.”

“I’m gonna let that one slide. Neil has been known to insinuate his way close to certain profs—but not me.” I stick my tongue out at him and go finish setting the table. “The sad thing is he’s really very smart.”

Jared brings the pot of stew and a plate of sliced crusty bread to the table and starts dishing it out. “It’s your overt sexuality.”

“Overt? Me?”

“The outfit you were wearing the day we met—you call that subtle? You can’t hide it, Eva, especially not from me.” He laughs and sits down. “You are far too sensuous. And your vibes are like a beacon to others.” He fixes me with a mesmerizing stare. “You attract people.”

His smooth Southern drawl drips thick with suggestion and my pulse starts to race.

“If that were true, I’d be leaving men in my wake.”

“You cause a disturbance every time we go out. Take that night at DeGaulle’s.” He takes a bite of stew before saying, “There was the valet, then Baptiste, two guys in the lounge, a waiter, not to mention several glances from women as we made our way to the elevator.”

He’s actually ticking them on his fingers. Now it’s my turn to laugh.

“Give me a break! I didn’t see—”

“No, you didn’t, because you refuse to look. You said, on the day we met, that I was very observant. You are like the sun, girl. You emit but you do not absorb,” he says with a smile.

I shut up. Glynnis practically told me almost the exact same thing with regard to Terry Hyde. “You seem to have a keen interest in how many men look at me.”

“Have you always been so guarded?” He continues like I haven’t spoke, but I say nothing.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “I think you’ve been conditioned by your family, your work, your friends—everybody—to believe that you are untouchable.” His voice softens, but he levels a gaze on me that goes deeper than my skin. “But you want to be touched. You need someone to touch you. Does that embarrass you?”

Truth is I am getting embarrassed. What can I say?

“It’s my defence mechanism.”

He nods. “And a very good one too. Freud would be impressed. Look, but don’t touch. That’s exactly how you were when we met at The DeLuxe.”

“Yeah, but you ignored the sign.”

“I did. Unlike many of these so-called men, I have balls.”

This time we both laugh, but when we stop, he reaches out to stroke my arm.

“Evadne, you’re the only woman I’ve met whose defence mechanism is tuned to perfection.” He raises my hand and kisses it. “And I’ve known many women.”