Messalina: Devourer of Men (33 page)

“Jared, I’d like you to meet Neil Hollister.”

Before he turns to face Neil I catch the gleam in Jared’s eyes and it makes me nervous.

“Neil!” Jared reaches out a hand. Neil takes it and I see his cheeks flinch as Jared squeezes. “Nice to meet you at last. Eva speaks of you so often, I’m jealous. I hope you’re keeping her out of trouble. There’s only room for one scandal at Bellingham.”

I grit my teeth and Neil looks at me with a mixture of surprise and something else. Satisfaction? I sense he is doing a quick appraisal of Jared and assessing my taste in men. And what’s this nonsense about my going on as if I talk about Neil constantly when I’ve only mentioned him on occasion?

“So, Neil,” he continues. “You’re here to give your ol’ prof some moral support?”

“Yes, sir. Dr. Cavell is my favorite.” He looks at me. “I got her back.”

I turn away. I knew Neil was fond of me, but his favorite? The kid is a Political Science major and aiming for pre-law. Looking up, I see the light is now green and cross the street. I glance over my shoulder and see the two men are talking, and taking their time. I give a whistle. They look up and Jared waves me on.

“We’ll catch up!”

I smile weakly and walk away. My man and my infatuated “puppy” are making friends.

My life is now complete.

* * * *

It doesn’t take long for the debate to get heated. When Professor Alicia Beecham mentions how the ancient Greeks had a system of mentoring that sexually “abused” young men, I have to call in a point of order.

“It seems that my colleague on the other side of the aisle is confusing the issue with information I’m not sure she understands.”

There are a few audible gasps and wide-eyed stares from both sides of the stage and the audience, but I don’t care. The woman is talking bullshit.

“How am I misinformed, Dr. Cavell?”

“We can sit here today, thousands of years later, with our 21
^st
century morals and debate whether or not the ancient Greeks sexually ‘abused’ their young, but it doesn’t negate the fact that they used sex as an effective form of teaching.”

“Are you saying that all students should have sex with their professors?” Beecham frowns.

“I find the taste of other people’s words in my mouth quite bitter, professor.”

More “oohs” and “ahhs” from the audience, but I go on.

“If a faculty member and student choose to have a relationship, it’s not my business.”

“Does the same go for mentoring, Dr. Cavell?”

This question is asked by Professor G. E. D. Smith, a man so self-righteous he makes Mother Teresa look like a drunken whore. But the scary thing is that he’s the head of department for Politics—and another man associated with Neil.

I turn and look at my colleague, Professor Harold Seigel, in disbelief and he looks at me with the same, as does Dr. Kent Melbourne, the third faculty member on our side of the panel.

Unless I’m mistaken, Professor Smith has made a thinly veiled insinuation that my relationship with Terrence Hyde was something far more intimate.

“Perhaps I am not following your argument, Dr. Cavell,” he continues. “Did the ancient Greeks have more morals than we do today? Were their methods of teaching and mentoring more appropriate?”

“Professor, I am not going to try and compare our modern methods to theirs. What I will say is that, as consenting adults, we don’t need every aspect of our lives given a stamp of approval by those who feel morally superior.”

The professor and I proceed to have a mini showdown as we glare at each other from across the stage until the moderator, Dr. Lawley Gillis, steps in.

“Thank you, everyone, for your comments. Let’s open the floor for questions.”

After a few questions about college regulations and consent, the topic swings into that of mentoring and student assistants. I’m asked if student assistants are regarded in a differential way.

“No, they’re not. At least they shouldn’t be.”

Then, to my horror, Jared stands up.

“But you’re biased, aren’t you, Dr. Cavell? Don’t you have a student assistant? What is your relationship with him—or her?”

My eyes bug out for a moment, and if they could, they’d shoot lasers and disintegrate him on the spot. I try to keep my smile serene, but I get the feeling I look like a demented cat about to strike. Neil takes this opportunity to stand and it’s all I can do to keep from banging my head on the table.

“I’m Dr. Cavell’s assistant and I am more than pleased to work under her. Not once has she complained about my service.”

Of course this gets laughs and Neil takes a bow, but I think I’m the only one who notices Professor G. E. D. Smith looking first at Neil and then at me. His churlish expression turns even more sour, if that’s possible.

And so it begins. People start voicing their feelings about favoritism between professors and their assistants, and the fact that the girl Terry Hyde got pregnant was his assistant is raised by a reporter from the student paper.

It's not like we can comment, but I remain quiet for the rest of the discussion, knowing that I succeeded in ruffling the feathers of a few esteemed senior members of faculty and don’t feel like digging myself in deeper.

Yet, in the end, everything comes to an amicable conclusion. I’m not saying we solved anything, but we succeed in creating a very lively dialogue amongst the campus population.

We get back to Jared’s place and I am dragging my ass. Jared, on the other hand, has barely stopped laughing.

“Aw, babydoll. You were perfect.”

I spin around and point a finger at him. “You and Neil did not help.” Despite my anger, he laughs harder.

“I think there’s something to be said for stricter rules between faculty and students,” he says as we enter the house. “I got a vested interest in this. That assistant, Neil, is a nice-looking fellow.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “And he has a massive crush on you.”

CHAPTER sixteen

Truth and consequences

It’s now March. Three weeks since the article in
Redd Ink
and the first of the biweekly issues of
LoL
is out. In issue #13, ironically enough, Lucrezia Spence’s double life is about to be exposed by Jack Dover. I’ve been waiting for my lunch break, so I can lock myself in my office and read it. Now, a visibly scared Lucrezia makes a call to her benefactor:

            “Unless Mark Starr can prevent his

            wife Astrid from going to the cops,

            Charity Escorts is through!”

            The remaining panels are bordered by a phone cord, framing the action as Lucrezia speaks to a person sitting on a high-backed chair obscured by shadows.

“I can’t get Chief Lawson to help,”

Lucrezia continues. “His ass is in

too deep.”

“I wish you’d approached me

sooner, Lucrezia,” the mystery

person replies. “Now, I may have

to use tactics that I’d rather not.”

“I’m sorry . . .”

            Whomever Lucy is speaking to must have some awesome power, because the drawing of Lucrezia captures her fear so well it’s hard for me not to feel sorry for the silly woman.

“When you asked me to help smooth the way for your expansion of Charity Escorts, you said everything was under control. What happened?”

“Things took longer than was

estimated.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“No! No, no, I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then what do you mean, Lucy?”

            The frames get lighter, revealing more detail. The mystery man sits in what could be described as a study with tall, mullioned windows, Empire furniture, and bookshelves full of leather-bound volumes.

“Just help me . . . please?”

“I’ll help you, Lucrezia, but I warn you. Be careful. I would hate for anything to happen to the business

. . . Or to you.”

            The phone cord framing the panel has turned into a rope with a noose at the end. I smile. Ali’s sense of humor shines again.

“I have always tried to never let you down.”

            Lucrezia looks paler with each passing frame, if that’s possible. Her angelic face is dripping with sweat.

“And I am grateful. Lucrezia, I go into every endeavor with both eyes open. Remember that.”

            The darkness now falls in a solid diagonal across the frame, exposing the mystery person as having nice shapely legs and wearing a tight, dark-blue dress. A very revealing neckline exposes a chest that threatens to break free of its confinement and the black silhouette of a cat’s face on the right breast. I grin from ear-to-ear. The mastermind behind all this is another woman! The last frame shows Lucrezia visibly relieved and slumping down in a chair.

“I will remember. Thank you, Messalina.”

I’ll be damned.

I drop the book onto my desk, not caring that my salad is beneath it. Calmly, I pick up the phone. “Hello, Trey. Is Jared around?” When Trey replies, I swear he sounds like I caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh! Hello, Cookie. Let me see if I can find him.” Trey puts me on hold but he’s barely gone before he’s back.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but he’s on a conference call. I don’t know how long he’ll be.”

“That’s fine. But tell him I want to talk to him ASAP.”

My tone is sharp and I hang up before Trey can respond.. Resting my head in my hands, I suddenly feel a monster headache coming on. I may have threatened to kill him before, but right now, if Jared Delaney were near me, he would have good reason to fear for his safety. I take a few “calming” breaths but it hardly helps.

OK, he may be too busy to talk right now. But I know who isn’t.

lickitty:       messalina! a woman after my own heart!

RzrBrn:       get in line, toots

triXXX:      let’s hear it for the ladies!!! woo hoo!!!

Damocles:  well, she talks tuff but does she have the balls to really do anything

blkcat:        not balls. ovaries.

Damocles:  whatever

blkcat:        newbie?

Damocles:  i’ve been lurking for a while

blkcat:        nice to meet you anyway

Damocles:  feeling’s mutual. i enjoy reading your comments

lickitty:       hey lovebirds, get a room!!

blkcat:        only if you make it a threesome, lick

lickitty:       nah. too many dangly bits. no offense, damocles

Damocles:  none taken:-)

Well, apart from the skeptical comment from the newest member of the group, the thirty other people that log on within the hour rave about the “woman behind the woman” as Lickitty puts it.

triXXX:      i cant wait to see her face

caberet:      if lucy’s anything to go by, this Messalina chick will rock. hey, did anyone read the latest redd ink?

Several people speak up in the affirmative.

GQMan:     ali must have a goddess for a girlfriend

RzrBrn:       lucky bastard

Damocles:  unless he’s a lying bastard

lickitty:       damn, damocles, u r a happy piece of work!

Damocles:  nah, just dubious. don’t mind me

triXXX:      nothing wrong with that. after all, this is a MAN’S fantasy. right razor?

RzrBrn:       ha ha

blkcat:        i wonder if  messalina will live up to her name

GQMan:     what do you mean?

blkcat:        look it up

I log off from the chatroom. What kind of professor would I be if I didn’t make them work for it? If I get my way, this comic book Messalina is going to crash and burn like her ancient predecessor. And the sooner the better.

Neil Hollister comes whistling into my office to start his shift, looking as chipper and charming as ever. I put on a smile and clear off my desk, shoving the comic in a drawer.

“What’s up, teach?”

“Hi, Neil.” I watch him as he retrieves the work I left for him in his basket.