Messalina: Devourer of Men (38 page)

Admit my error? My look of disbelief prompts him to continue.

“There are five of us.” He holds up his hands. “I know, I know, it’s going to look bad for you to go in and say that you fucked up the grades of five graduating seniors. But let’s face it,” he says and his smile takes on the charm of a rattlesnake, “the chance of me calling you ‘Professor Cavell’ is as likely as me calling a black man ‘sir.’”

I am stunned. Never had I guessed he harbored such thoughts, but then again, I gave him more credit than he deserved for a long time. Once again, I’ve let myself be played.

“And to think you used to threaten that we would live to regret our GPA.” He has a hearty chuckle. “You see, Evadne, I’ve known for a while that you were involved with this
Messalina
thing. I knew you were the ‘black cat’ on the bulletin board. One only has to look at the photo on your desk to put that together.” He indicates to the empty space where the photo of me and Jared once occupied.

“Mind you, I only stumbled upon the comic book by accident when one of the guys brought it to the frat house. When I saw Messalina’s tattoo, it reminded me of another one I’d seen elsewhere.” He shakes his head. “I’m just disappointed that you didn’t figure out my alias too.”

I frown, not comprehending.

“Geez,” he says, rolling his eyes with annoyance. “Call yourself a teacher? I’ll give you a hint. Remember that day in class when you, yet again, got off topic and asked us to name our favorite corny movie? You said
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
. I filed that information away for future use and it served me well.”

Yes, I remember the day. The little prick. Accusing me of being “off topic.” I always ask that question when I’m lecturing on stereotypes in media. Seems we have both missed our share of clues.

So Neil Hollister is ‘Damocles’ on the
LoL
bulletin board and has been hanging a sword over my head. Mostly he lurked, but when he did pop up, he always seemed to try to take digs at me, and a few others, but me more often than not. When we didn’t rise to his bait, he would fade back into the shadows.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’m going to need you to fill out one of those grade forms you keep in your desk and turn it in to the registrar tomorrow so our grades can be recalculated.”

Neil gets up, walks around my desk, and reaches for my lower desk drawer. I stop him.

“I can’t use those grade slips. They’re obsolete. I’ll have to get the current ones from the registry tomorrow.”

As if on cue, my antique wall clock chimes four o’clock. All administrative offices are now closed for the day. Saved by the bell.

“No worries.” He makes is way back to the other side of my desk. “I will meet you here tomorrow at the same time. You’ll fill out the correct forms—in front of me—and we’ll go to registry together.”

I nod. “And what about your end of the bargain? How can I trust that you won’t duplicate these photographs?”

“Evadne,” he says, once again reaching to squeeze my hand, “you have my word.”

I stare at him blankly and he chuckles and goes to his seat to pick up his backpack. “Once you turn in those grades, I’ll give you the memory card containing all the photos.”

“Just out of curiosity, how many photos do you have of me?”

Neil makes a face as if trying to think before leveling his dark brown eyes on me. For such a complete bastard, he still has the looks to make some hearts flutter.

“Five hundred and fifty.”

My stomach clenches as if I’ve been punched in the gut. They must have been watching me—us—for months. With that said, Neil walks out of my office whistling “The Sword of Damocles.”

I give myself a minute to calm down. My little interview with Neil, although expected, has left me rattled. But this is nothing compared to what I have to do next. I pick up the phone. I need to do this now. My nervous breakdown will have to wait.

“Hi, Mom. Is Dad around? I need to talk to both of you.”

* * * *

“Modeling?”

My mother’s voice is full of disbelief, much to my chagrin, when I tell her and my dad how I’ve “modeled” for some of Jared’s drawings. I’m sure she’s thinking how could someone with my build be a model? It’s not a lie, strictly speaking. I am the model for Messalina and the sex scenes are reminiscent of what I’ve done with Jared; it’s just that I didn’t know it at the time.

“Eva,” my dad begins, but he doesn’t sound skeptical, only disappointed. “Why?”

We are sitting in the dining room, in the same seats where I was taken to task so many weeks earlier. Dad sits at the head of the table on my right and Mom is at her station on the opposite end to my left. Both of them are staring me down in the same way they did when I was a child. Today, I’m determined to put a stop to it.

“Because Jared, in his way, has helped me feel better about myself.”

“How can posing nude make you feel better?”

“How can having people constantly comment about my weight make me fell better? Gee, Mom, let me guess.”

“Eva, I only say—”

“What I already know. Thanks, Mom. I get the message.”

And for the first time in my life, my mother is speechless. Perhaps even hurt judging by the look in her eyes. I turn to my dad who just looks confused and ask.

“Tell me. Do you both even like Jared?”

“Of course we do, Eva.” Dad reaches for my hand. “We just worry, that’s all.”

“Stop worrying.” I laugh, even though it’s forced. “I’m thirty-six  years old now. What I do is my business and my responsibility.” I try to smile, but my lips seem to stretch too tight. “And that goes for any consequences too.” I look at my mom who nods. Whether she’s conceding defeat or a draw remains to be seen.

When I leave my parents’ house, I drive away a few blocks before pulling over and letting my emotions wash all over me. I’ve just stated to my parents that I’m a sexual being and an adult prepared to handle my own affairs but sit on the side of the road crying like a big girl. When I’m done, I’m empty and weak. I need food, drink . . . and company.

* * * *

The atmosphere at the circular booth we occupy is like a war room; we sit, staring into our drinks, waiting for our food, and decide our next maneuver.

“I say we string the little shit up by his pubes,” Ana says before downing her lemon drop.

Tony looks at me with big, sympathetic brown eyes.

“Is this that bastard kid you failed?” he asks.

“I didn’t fail him. I gave him a C. It should’ve been a D.”

“Why didn’t you give it to him?”

“Because I felt sorry for him,” I reply, ignoring Ana’s sarcastic gagging. “He did put in an effort towards the end, so I gave him a little boost.”

Tony shakes his head. “Kids like him don’t need a boost, chica. Society gives them one already.”

We sit in silence. It’s just past five o’clock and the downtown crowd is starting to come in looking for pub grub inside of this ersatz English tavern. The weather outside has turned as predicted, and despite my situation and my need for company at the moment, I feel our war council won’t last too long.

Trey, the final member of our group, arrives as does our food. I had taken the liberty of ordering stuffed artichokes for him. He removes his woolly overcoat and the sleet is visible on top of his collar and shoulders. He moves in next to Ana.

“Hello, all. What have I missed?”

“The next round,” Tony informs and hails the waiter so Trey can order.

Over the next few minutes, I fill Trey in and he sits, staring at me, his face registering both anger and pain. When I finish he takes a deep breath.

“Fuck.”

“That sums it,” I say with a weak smile.

After several minutes of silence and everyone sinking deeper into their drinks, Tony speaks. “Evadne, if I were to come to the campus tomorrow, would you be able to point out this little
pendejo
to me?”

“Sure. You’re not planning on murder are you?”  I try to laugh.

“No.” He smiles. “But I am thinking about life insurance.”

Chapter twenty

“Devourer of men”

My days at Bellingham College are numbered.

As promised, I wait for Neil to arrive at the office and fill in the grade forms for him and his four “associates.” They’re all over-privileged bastards just like their ringleader and none of them deserve even the slightest little break like the one I gave Hollister in my moment of misplaced altruism.

It’s a quarter to four and we walk across the quad towards the registrar’s office. Once inside, I see my friend Marlena Mondragon behind the counter.

“Hi, Marlena,” I say with a smile. “I’m afraid I have some corrections for you.” With Neil’s presence at my side, I can sympathize with people who are forced to do something at gunpoint.

“Not a problem. It happens to the best of them.” Marlena takes the forms and gives them a quick glance. She whistles, opens her mouth to say something, and then realizes Neil is standing there.

“Evadne?”

“Yes, Lena?” Beads of sweat form on my forehead.

“You have five corrections here.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“OK, chiquita. I’ll handle this for you and get it done ASAP.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Neil and I smile at her and she smiles back, albeit confused.

Once outside the registrar’s office, we turn in the direction of the parking lot. I turn to him and hold out my hand.

“Oh, yes,” he says and chuckles, “mustn’t forget my part of the bargain, must we?”

He digs into his front jeans pocket and produces a tiny chip.

“Here you go, princess. All five hundred-plus snaps of you doing all sorts of things.” He winks and I swallow the wave of nausea rising to the back of my throat.

“How about a drink to celebrate the closing of our transaction?”

I should be surprised at his offer, but considering his arrogant nature and what we’ve just done, I’m not. I look down at my feet.

“Aw, come on, Evadne! No hard feelings, eh . . . prof?”

I force myself to join in his hearty laughter this time.

“I thought you said you’d never call me professor.”

He shrugs. “Evadne, my dear, you may never become a full professor, but being an assistant isn’t so bad now, is it?”

Neil offers me his arm. Defeated, I take it.

“Shall we go over to the pub?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Actually, I’m thinking in the direction of downtown. I’m in the mood for someplace quieter than the pub.  More like a hotel.”

At the word “hotel,” I swear I could see Neil’s cock twitch in his trousers.

“You’re on.”

And with that, Neil Hollister follows me to the place where I will cement my undoing.

* * * *

On Thursday of the following week, I sit in my office grading papers when Neil Hollister storms in, and once again, I am ready for him.

“Ah, Hollister. Close the door. Have a seat.”

Neil does, but stops short when he notices I’m not alone.

“This is my friend and associate, Gator Ferguson. Gator, meet Neil Hollister.”

Gator Ferguson is six feet of solid packed muscle with a shaved head, trimmed beard, and no neck—the type of man who goes sleeveless and rides his Hog year-round. He pulls out a chair, positions it directly in front of my desk, and motions for Neil to obey. He complies and Gator maintains his position behind the chair, arms folded across his tank chest.

“Wait a minute,” I say, looking at Gator. “I’m sorry, but you and Neil have met before, right?”

“Yeah.” Gator chuckles, his voice thick from a thousand smoked Marlboros. “We got to be real friendly the other night.”

My desk clock chimes three-thirty and I smile.

“Speaking of meetings, we really have got to stop meeting like this, Hollister, but I’m glad to see you got my present.”

Neil’s face is a mask and his eyes burn a black fire, but his skin is pale and flushed. I lean forward, loosely lace my fingers together in front of me, and look Neil Hollister dead on.

“As you can see from the series of photographs and the DVD you received earlier, I have decided it would be in my best interest
not
to take you at your word—valuable though it may be. I needed to take some measures with regard to my privacy.” I flash him a cold smile. “Call it insurance.”

Neil starts chewing his lower lip.

“You, Peaches, and Gloria all had a good time in that motel, didn’t you?”

Gator’s hearty laugh makes me want to clear my throat.

“So you see, Neil, if I ever catch wind that you or any of your ‘associates’ are showing any of my photographs you’ve stored in any way, shape, or altered form,” I lean in closer for the kill. “Not only will your uncle, your mama, and your daddy receive a copy of your sex video . . . I’m gonna start peddling your ass on the Internet.”