The knock at my door came minutes after I had kicked off my shoes and settled into the ragged recliner I lifted off the Spring Garden sidewalk my sophomore year.  "Come in," I called, as I pulled out a pack of Wrigleys spearmint, the brand I've switched to since the new "no smoking" policy.

The dame who came in was one I've seen around before, and not just because I know her type so well I can name the number on the bottle her hair color came out of.  Her name was Kelly Lovelace, a freshman who had gotten a name for getting around even before her eighteenth birthday just this October.  She wore a Victoria's Secret silk nighttime in emerald green that wasn't keeping too many secrets, and the way the light from my desk lamp played along the length of her gams made me wish Id thought to shave in the past two days.  You could tell from the look in her eye that she knew it too, that shed caught that look in my eye that put the word "SUCKER" in big, bold print across my forehead.  No doubt about it, she was trouble, but I'm a CA, and troubles my job.

"Mr. Harrison," she said in a voice that made me think of desperate moments outside the girls locker room.

"Please, just call me John."

"I'm in need of your services."  She sat in the papa-san chair without being asked and lounged there like Cleopatra.  "My boyfriend and I just broke up and he has something of mine that he wont give back."  She
languidly reached for my Han Solo figure who stood on the bookshelf beside her, while the cut-out of Boba Fett looked down at her like he might drop his rifle any second now.  "Its a bedroom slipper that looks like a 
chicken."

"You mean like the bunnies and the bear feet and the gorillas that say eep! when you squeeze them?"

"That's right," she said.

"This chicken thief got a name?"

"Its Will.  Will Rockham, you know?  He lives on the third floor, room 317."

"That's Vanessa's beat," I said.

"I know that." She rose from the chair, coiling her hip to the side so I got a lacie flash that made my chewing skip a beat.  "But I think you're the man for this job."

"Well see."

"I have absolute faith in you," she said.  "If you find anything come see me, I'm in 204.  Or maybe if you don't find anything..."  She let herself out, and I let out the air I was sucking  in my gut with.  I was on the job again.  I picked up my blue baseball cap and my keys.  First thing was to go find Vanessa to see what she knew about this Will Rockham.

I could hear two voices coming from behind Vanessa's door.  One was a girl whose disgruntled roommate apparently broke the "SNOOZE" button on her alarm so she couldn't sleep in anymore.  The others was  Vanessa's, cool and calm, and absolutely in control in the way that only strong, black women are.  Sounded like Vanessa could use a way out of this conversation, so I went ahead and knocked.  She opened the door and didn't say "hey," just grit her teeth and rolled her eyes in the direction of the girl I'd cut off.

I slipped into my "official CA business" voice.  "Van, can we talk alone for a sec?  Its important."

"Oh, really?  Gee, I'm sorry, Melanie, I'm going to have to talk about this more later.  This sounds like official CA business."  The girl left, and Vanessa made strangling motions to her back.  Then she sighed and turned to me. 

"What's up, John.  Little Debbie?"

"Sorry, I'm trying to cut back."  Vanessa took a snack cake for herself from the collection under her bead.  "I got an assignment from Kelly Lovelace, she says her ex is keeping something of hers, guy named Rockham.  You know anything about it?"

"Damn right I do," she said, swallowing a thick bite of creamy filling.  "Whole fricking floor knows all about those two.  For the past two weeks they've been having shouting matches that have lasted three to five hours at a time.  Id get a complaint and tell them to keep it down. Not thirty minutes later they'd be right back at it again."

"Harsh.  Got any idea about the story there?" 

"A bit.  You got to understand that Rockhams just as much of a player as that girl Lovelace.  Seems like both wanted to play the field but keep the other all to themselves."

"How rude."

"You ask me, they deserve each other."  Vanessa pulled out another snack cake.  "You sure you don't want one?"  I shook my head.  "So what's the missing property?"

"Chicken slipper."

"Oh, yeah, I've seen them.  The little tramp would be wearing those and not much else every time I'd call on them to quiet down.  He took one?  Why?"

"Probably to get even.  Got any idea if this guy Rockham has violent tendencies."

"About Miss Lovelace, he just might." 

"Then  I'm guessing if I don't find that chicken soon well be seeing it scattered over the courtyard in little pieces."

"Love makes you do crazy things," said Vanessa.

 "Hormones." I said.  "Its all just hormones."

 It was only just after quiet hours, so  I headed straight to Rockhams room to see if I couldn't get this whole deal over with in time to get a start on my research paper that night.  When I got there, though, the guy who answered the door didn't look like the kind I pegged for Lovelaces type.  He was a little pudgy, with a sharp nose that made the guy look kind of like a rat.  Had all of the manners of a rat too, just stood there looking at me.

"Will Rockham?"

The rat shook his head.  "Downstairs.  Computer lab."  I checked the name tag beside the door, figuring this was the roommate.

"Well, thanks, Chet Grayson of Baltimore, MD."  Chet just closed the door, but before he did, I made a quick scan of the room.  It  was dark.  One side had a lit computer monitor waiting for Chet to return. The other side looked more like Rockham, more what a guy brings girls to when he wants to impress them.  His mattress was up on a loft with a dark, tastefully patterned bedspread that spilled a little over the side.  I noticed the bed was made, which either meant he was a neat guy or that his bed expected visitors.  Underneath were a couple of pieces of  matching bean bag furniture and a large potted plant.  Christmas tree lights coiled around the legs of the loft.  No sign of the chicken slipper though. 

 The lab was uncharacteristically quiet For Wednesday night, only a guy and a girl there, so I picked out Rockham pretty easy.  Even sitting, I could tell the guy was tall, and definitely built.  He had shoulders like thick bubbles of testosterone ready to burst from his t-shirt.  Like a lot of players he had the "Aren't I debonair?" goatee, but the mustache was weak.  It looked like the shadow of his upper lip cringing there.  I noticed the broad too, but just because she kept peeking away from her email to watch his game of Snood.

Suddenly I made the connection.  Will Rockham was the Snood player who signed in as "da Rock."  Id been wanting to strangle "da Rock" for  weeks now.  The punk kept monopolizing the Snood Top Scores, and anytime
anyone else would make the list they'd find the next day that the scores had been erased and "da Rock" was the only name up there.  Still, you cant write a guy up for been a jerk.

"Will Rockham?"

"Whaddya want, CA-man?  Cant ya see I'm busy here."

"Sorry to trouble you.  Id like to ask you about your standing with one Kelly Lovelace."\

Rockham stopped and his eyes went dead.  The broad in the corner sensed the tension and hastily  left before Rockham spoke.

"I aint got nothing to say to anyone about her." 

"Lovelace says you have her chicken slipper."

Rockham looked up at me.  "I didn't get anything from that dame but a pain in the butt and a broken heart."  Then the bruiser got up and walked right past me, leaving his game unfinished.  I would have stopped him, but when the guy got up it was like tangoing with Frankenstein.  I'd deal with him tomorrow, and Id be sure to get back-up.

I let Vanessa bang on Rockhams door.  She's mastered that authoritative hammering that comes with any good police raid.  Rockham answered with a look on his mug that said he was full of all the pig-headed rage her knocking brings out of most punks.  But  when he saw Lovelace standing behind us, all that left him.

"Aw, for Christs sake, Kelly, all I wanted was for you to come talk to me."  He stepped back to let us in.

"Where's the chicken, Will?" I asked.

"Its over there, in my footlocker."

"I got it John, " said Vanessa.  I looked over and saw Chet sitting with back to us, locked into his PC.   Our visit didn't seem to bother him, in fact he didn't even notice it.  I did catch him stealing a few quick glances at Lovelace, though.  Cant blame the guy for that.  It's not every day a guy like Chet gets to see a dame like her outside his
monitor.

Meanwhile, Rockham was making himself look pitiful.  "C'mon, Kell,  it doesn't have to come to this.  You know it was all lies.  You're the only  girl for me."

But she wasn't listening.  She wasn't even looking at the lug.  "How've you been, Chet?"

The rat shrugged.  I looked over at Vanessa.  "What's keeping you, Van?"

"Uhm, Harrison?  Come over for a sec."  She knelt in front of the footlocker with the lid half-closed.  As I stepped beside her, she opened it and pointed inside.  There was the slipper all right, and none the worse for wear.  But that wasn't where she was pointing.  Just beside the slipper, peaking out from behind a "Hustler" magazine, was the lower corner of a Ziploc bag.  And in that bag, all but a small mound of it hidden by a glossy cover and silicone-pumped pin-up, was about three ounces of dark green, uncut marijuana.  I shared a look with Vanessa, then turned to Rockham.  He was still working on Lovelace, who was feigning interest in Chet's game.

"Pretty sloppy, Rockham," I said.  It took him a second to break away from Lovelace.  When he did though, his whole face fell from jaw to hairline when he saw the baggie in Vanessas hand.

"Oh, shit!"  Its the same words out of everyone's mouths when they get busted.

Lovelace finally gave her ex her attention. "Oh, my God, Will!  You told me you were off that stuff!"

The rat still didn't take notice.  "I swear, its not mine!" said Rockham.  A guy has to be pretty desperate to try an excuse that weak.

"Van, this is your write-up.  You can take it from here.  I'll go let Susan from the first floor know."  I picked up the chicken slipper and put it in Lovelaces soft, tiny hands.  "Your slipper, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mr. Harrison.  I hope I can repay you for your good work."  Her voice hit me with hard with something  raw like the first time a guy sees a Victoria's Secret catalog.  I kept walking though.  I had a paper to get to.

And a cold shower was waiting for me.

Instincts are the most important trait in a good CA, and the hardest to come by.  A conscience, on the other hand, is just about the last thing a CA needs, and the toughest damn thing to get rid of.   Just 24 hours since Kelly Lovelace had slinked into my room with her plea, and I was more than ready to wash myself of her, Rockham, his rodent roommate, and those damn chicken slippers.  And by all rights, I should have been able to just shrug it all away, but I couldn't.

One of these days I've got to learn how to be hard and jaded, I thought.  At the time though, I knew where I had to go and who I had to see.  According to the cartoon chart outside his apartment, Tim the RD of Mary Foust was "In.  Knock loudly."  So I did, but not too loud since it was past his son, Fitz' bedtime.

"One second!"  I heard Tim call from within.  He opened the door in a moment.  "John!  What's up, dude?  Come on inside!"

I've always thought a lot of Tim.  Tim's a big guy, and you've just got to respect that just like anything else big -- the Grand Canyon, Mt. Everest, Lake Superior, Tim Flood.  And I'm not just talking size, that's just a contributing factor.  Tim has this voice that's just huge.  It always seems like he's talking over a crowd of people, even if its just the two of you.  When he shouts at you, it's like your chest aches.  When he laughs, the walls shake.

"Sit down, John. Talk to me."

"Well, I've got a quick question, Tim."

"Shoot."

"You called campus police yet about Will Rockham?"

He gave a short laugh and said, "No.  Not quite yet.  Why?" 

"Well, I was wondering if I could get you to wait a bit on that." 

He looked at me a little more closely.  "How come?"

I took off my baseball hat and ran a hand through my hair.  "Well, its like this, Tim.  Something doesn't sit right about this whole thing.  I don't know why.  Its just a hunch.  See, I don't think its Rockhams pot.  I think he's been framed."

"Dude, you got to be kidding me."

"I know, it sounds pretty far-fetched, but none of this fits together.  Tim, he told us to look in that footlocker.  I don't care how dense the guy is, if he knows he has pot in there, he's not going to send a CA to go inspect it."

Tim nodded.  "So what do you want me to do?  I cant just ignore this, you know."

"I know.  Look, just give me some time and I'll prove Rockham's innocent.  How long can you hold out on this?"

"I don't know John."  He sighed.  "I don't think I can wait longer than 48 hours."

"That'll be more than enough time.  Thanks, Tim."  I put my cap on and got up to leave.

"I hope this Rockham guys is worth it, John." 

I turned to him as I opened the door.  "He's not.  But its just something I've got to do."

Around the RC, gossip flows like the mighty Mississippi.  You want to know anything about anyone at any time, all you got to do is know who to ask.  Some sources specialized in different areas, but for good, general information I always turned to Mary Howser, head of the Social Committee.  I met her in the Caf at the RC table, a short girl in overalls and blond pigtails who made up for her small size with a personality that rang off the walls.  During the "Simpsons" commercial breaks, I tried to fill in the gaps of this story.

"So whaddya need tonight Harrison?" she asked. 

"Need to checkout the buzz on Lovelace and Rockham.  Got anything good for me?"

"Oh.  Yeah.  Yeah, you could say I do." 

Turned out that Mary had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of Rockhams charms this Fall.  Everyone knew he was more interested in her car than her, but Mary had it bad.  He dumped her nicely enough, no 
major heartbreak.  Rockham kept her friendship so he could keep the use of her car -- real swell guy.  I could tell Mary  was still sweet on him though, and close enough to him to hear all the good dirt first-hand.

"Willie was so in love with that girl."

"That so?  I heard he was still playing the field."

Mary shook her head.  "Rumors still went around, but after their first date he broke off all his other relationships.  I mean, he was sick over her.  Not that she felt the same."

"So it was Lovelace who did the breaking-up, huh?  How come?"

"That girl is paranoid!  She started suspecting Will of being unfaithful."

"With who?"

Mary looked up at me levelly, steadying me for what was about to come.  "Amy Waldenstein," she said.  I almost dropped my gingerbread cookie.

Waldenstein was the broad back in the computer lab, a real mousy type, one of those quiet girls who don't say much but always smile when you pass them in the hall.   Not exactly the girl you'd expect to give competition to Kelly Lovelace.  Remembering the other night though, there was something about the way she kept checking Rockham's Snood game.  And she did leave the moment Lovelace was mentioned.

"Wow," I said.  "How'd Lovelace get that idea?"

"The two are in Fran's Core and had a group project together with Jeff Gardner, but Gardner caught mono from Anne-Elise Sheppard, so the two ended up doing the project all by themselves.  Lots of late nights together."

"Doesn't sound like enough to convict the guy."

"Yeah, but then she heard Amy talking in the Small Parlour one night about how great she thought Will was.  It was just enough to set her off.  Two weeks later, she left him.  Poor Willie was so upset he went home last weekend to get away from it all.  Most people are saying that it was true, that he was... you know, with Waldenstein.  But I know my Willie better than that."

I sat for a moment, letting it all sink in.   The picture wasn't clear yet, but it was coming into focus.  "Thanks, Mary, you've helped a lot."

"Any time, John.  What about my regular fee?"

"Gotta run, so you'll get your back massage later.  This should hold you until then though."  I tossed a bag of Crunchy M&Ms onto Mary's  tray and headed out of the Caf.

I wasted no time confirming Mary's report.  It didn't take long watching Waldenstein to see that her eyes went straight to Rockham whenever he was around. Rockham never sought out her gaze though, and whenever their eyes met he'd flinch away with a faint look of disgust on his mug.  No love there, but something about Waldenstein's eyes reminded me of a puppy that's just been kicked out of her masters lap.

Waldenstein's room was on the first floor, so I checked in with the CA there, Suzanne Nash.

"Oh, yeah," she said.  "He's down here all the time.  I keep running into him in the hall around 3am.  Not just Waldenstein, though. The week before it was Joanne Cauffield, and before that Vicki Snyder."

"Huh.  Any signs of action there?"

"Let me put it this way, his shirt would be only half tucked in and he had bed-head to put Tina Turner to shame."

Slowly, I was getting the idea of how Rockham operated.  Seemed he liked the barter system.   Couldn't be sure what Cauffield gave him, but Vicki was an upperclassperson and of legal drinking age -- no real mind-bender there.  Any girl who had something he could use, like Howser's car and probably Waldenstein's study habits, he'd romance for as long as he needed them.

It was easy to see why Rockham would lie to Howser.  He could tell she still had it bad for him, and how could he get the use of her car for free if she knew he was still spreading himself around?  Still, it wasn't until he turned his attention to Waldenstein that Lovelace "eighty-sixed" him.

I had one last source to check, my "stool pigeon."  Jefferson had been the biggest pothead in RC those past two years, had a real sweet relationship with us authorities though.  He didn't smoke up on-campus and we pretended we didn't know about "Jerry" the triple-chambered, electric-powered,  gravity bong he kept in his closet.  Also, for further insurance, he'd give us information from time to time.  No names.  Nothing to the point of actually "narc"ing on someone, but he pointed in the direction of some people to talk to about calming their partying down before Campus Police had to be involved.

I got Jefferson to meet me at Yum-Yum at 3:00 o'clock, just after the time he normally wakes up.  It would be after the lunch rush, which was good for us.  And the hot dogs are cheap, which is a good for a guy who gets the "munchies" the way Jefferson does.  When I got there, the smell of onions and processed meat slammed into me, and some Pavlovian instinct made my mouth water.

I saw Jefferson hunched over four hotdogs in the back corner.

"Harrison, my man!  Have a seat!  You wanna dog?"

"No thanks.  I like my life.  I need to ask you about any transactions that have happened in the dorm recently."

"I see. What for?"

"I think somebody's been framed, and I want to find out who planted the weed on him."

"Noble cause.  Well, the biggest transaction happened just this Saturday.  I wasn't a part of it myself, but I had to do some background checks to see if it was legit.  Seemed a first-time buyer wanted to score three ounces.  Pretty fishy, but the kid checked out."

"Who was it?"

"Some freshman chick on the third floor.  Girl was sexy as hell. Not a person Id suspect as a smoker, but it takes all kinds."

"Third floor, huh?  Anything strange about it?"

"No, not rea--"  He stopped himself and thoughtfully chewed on his hot dog.  "Actually, come to think of it, there was something that struck me as pretty odd.  The room the package got dropped off was over on the boys side of the hall."

I got up and started for the door.  "Jefferson, I love you.  If  you didn't smell like a chili-dog right now, Id kiss you."

Behind me, I heard him mumble, "Oh, well.  Your loss."

Normally when I hear sounds of Engima coming from a room, half masking the heavy breathing, I give them about an hour and check back later.  But I didn't feel too much like doing Lovelace that courtesy.  After my fist knock, the moaning quieted, and they let me wait to see if I would leave.  I didn't.  After my second knock there was cursing and the sounds of sheets being rustled.

Lovelace had put on her silk nightie and a charming smile by the time she answered the door.  The guy on her bed had only put on his boxers.

"I need to talk to you, Kelly."

She remained unfazed.  "You know I'd love to talk to you, John, but I'm afraid I'm a little busy right now.  Can it wait?"

I shook my head.

The guy on the bed got up.  "Jesus, man, what's your problem?  Kell, you want me to get rid of this guy."  He was older, probably 22, and going prematurely bald.  To make up for it, he was growing a ratty, red beard.  Though Id seen him around, he wasn't an RCer.  He had the smell of the Quad on him -- stale beer and cheap aftershave.

Lovelace placated her boytoy.  "Hon, this will just take a second.  I'm sure you can handle it.  Anticipation makes it all the better."  She patted his rear end and handed him his jeans.  The guy was shocked and pissed, but didn't stand up to her.  Cursing under his breath, he dressed and shoved his way past me.  Normally I'd tell her to escort him out, but that was taken care of, and I wanted to keep Lovelace where she was.  I closed the door behind her
 boy, and immediately she slinked up against me.

"So, Mr. Harrison, come to collect your pay for a job well done?"  She let a strap from her nightie fall, bet I kept my eyes trained on her.

"Cool it, Lovelace.  Its over.  You're going down."  A lurid remark started from her mouth, but she saw that wouldn't get her anywhere.  She tried to play innocent.

"What do you mean?"

"The pot in Rockham's room.  It's yours.  You put it there.  You tried to get me to bust him for it.  But its not going to work."

"John, I don't know what you're talking about."  But she took a step back and went over to start straightening her bed.  "Why would I do something like that?  You think I care that much if he was seeing other girls."  She turned her back to me.  I could tell she was scared because she didn't try any seductive wiggles with her ass.

"Sure, you don't care about most girls.  He gets some play here for alcohol, maybe a ride somewhere, doesn't matter to you.  Hell, maybe it turned you on, I don't know.  But one girl did matter -- Amy Waldenstein.  She's sweet, mousy, shy, honest, endearing, and kind, everything you're not.  You're not the type to realize how good she is enough to be jealous though.  You look at that girl and all you see is trash.  She doesn't wear her  hair
right, hasn't ever heard of make up.  She doesn't do the talk and doesn't do the walk.  She's below you.  But she wasn't below Rockham.

"There's the problem though.  A guy sleeps with trash, and he is trash.  After he fooled around with her, he wasn't any better than she was.  And by association, if he fooled around with you..."

"A girl has to keep her standards."  She kept her back to me, but I could see her back tightening up.  Her voice had a predatory growl to it.

"Yeah, maybe so.  So, you left Rockham so the stain of Waldenstein lack of style wouldn't get on you, but it was too late.  People heard.  She declared her feelings for him right in the Small Parlour, so anyone in the foyer could hear it.  Word got around.  Suddenly, the great and sexy Kelly Lovelace is a lot less incredible.  She's just the girl Rockham cheated on with Amy Waldenstein."

Then she turned around, haughty, defiant.  "What about my slipper?"

"Oh, Rockham probably did steal it.  He thought he was in love with you, I bet most guys do.  He figures he gets the slipper, you come get it, and maybe he talks you into coming back.

"But you weren't really mad about it.  You saw it as an opportunity.  If Rockham didn't give your slipper back, you'd have to get help from an RA, and when that RA came you'd be sure there was a big bag of weed waiting for them."

She smiled, relaxed a little.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison.  That's an interesting story, but a bit far-fetched.  Yes, I couldn't stand what he did with Amy Waldenstein.  It was repulsive.  But how could anyone believe that I put the pot there?"

"You had help.  The roommate, Chet Atkins.  I've lived with guys that are dating enough to know that, no matter how careful you are, at some point you're going to see their girlfriend either partially or totally naked.  Chet got an eyeful of you, and Ill bet you liked the way it made him squirm.  You were the sexiest thing that high-tech hermit has seen in skin.  Anything you asked of him, he'd give you without a fight.  You wouldn't even have to make any real promises to him, much less own up on them.

"And why wouldn't he take the opportunity to screw over Rockham?  There lifestyles don't exactly mesh well.  Ill bet Chets been glued to that computer at times when all Rockham wants is to get alone with a lady, and Rockhams probably entertained a lot of female friends while Chet has wanted peace, quiet, and his PC.  Besides, it has to suck to be Chet, watching Rockham, this big jerk, get all that action while he sits there survived on 64-bit fantasy.  That kind of thing can make you hate a guy. 

"It was a good plan.  Chet told you where Rockham hid the slipper and let you into the room last weekend.  You made the purchase and placed it in the footlocker."

Lovelace faked a good laugh.  "That's ridiculous?" 

I stepped towards her.  "Is it?  I talked to a guy about that sale.  He said the buyer was a sexy, young girl who just happened to receive her marijuana on the male side of the third floor.  Rockham wasn't  here that weekend.  He went home to pine away over you.  While he was gone, you met the dealer in Rockhams room, which Chet let you into.  Maybe you placed the weed then, maybe you told Chet to wait until the right time.  Then you went to get me.

"Of course you chose me over going to Vanessa.  Rockham is on her floor, but Van would see through you in a hairpin heartbeat.  You needed a male CA, someone who would take one look at you and forget all about his
job, someone who wouldn't bother to dig deeper because of what you were offering him.  And you figured that was me." 

I could tell it was almost breaking her.  She was one hard word away from breaking into tears, but was a fighter.  I had to give her that.  After a moment of me looking at her and her looking at the floor, she recovered her cool and turned my way.

"Very good, Mr. Harrison.  You figured me out.  I'm impressed. Very impressed."  She started walking my way, a slow stalk like they do on the runway, letting every curve bump and twist in rhythm.  "And now you are the only one who knows it all, the only one who can ruin me."  She place her hand upon my chest and pulled down at the top of my t-shirt, running her fingertip across the top of my chest.  "I guess you're  in charge, Mr. Harrison.  You have complete power over me."  She raised her lips to mine.  "So what are you going to do with it?"

"Oh, I could have you any way I want to right now, I know that.  And I could keep you mine for just about as long as I wanted.  I'm not going to say that you don't get to me.  You can tell that's not a banana in my pocket.  But I aint gonna do it.  You aren't gonna win this.  See, you counted on me getting sweet on ya, and, kid, John Harrison doesn't play the sap for any dame.  You're going down."

She fingers clenched into claws and the sweet little mouth snarled at me with a the fury of a she-cat.  "You idiot.  Do you know how many men want me?  Do you know what you just gave up?  It isn't going to do you any good anyway.  No one will ever believe a word of it." 

"Sure, not without hearing your confession.  And lucky me, I have witnesses."  I reached over and pushed open the her, which Id left open part way.  There stood Vanessa and Suzanne, looking like the female "Untouchables."  Those girls deserve their own theme music.  "Sorry, Lovelace, but you're gonna have to do your time.  Take her away girls."

Vanessa and Suzanne came up to her, and each took one of her arms.  She didn't fight.  She didn't yell.  She just looked at me as they walked her out, with a mixture of anger and awe.  I was the first man to tell her "no."

The final draft of my research paper was two days late, but I didn't feel like getting to it right away.  I wanted to take some time to savor the moment.  If I still smoked, I would have lit one up.  As it was, I stepped into the courtyard for a stick of Wrigleys.  The sun had just gone down and the air was cool and sweet.

At the picnic table sat two familiar faces who waved me over.  One was Julia duBois, the head of Arts Committee, and the sultriest chain-smoker you'll ever meet.  She's got legs that stretch on forever, and the way she puts her lips around a cigarette sucks the breath out of you.  With her was her boyfriend, Harry MacKenzie, an RCA who's around a lot.  He's the reason I never went for Julia, not because he's a big guy, but because I respect him.

"What's up, Harrison?"  Julia asked.

"Oh, you know Foust.  Same old, same old."

Harry laughed.  "Oh, yeah.  Treachery.  Deceit.  Intrigue."

Julia chimed in.  "Passion.  Jealousy.  Revenge."

"Yep," I said.  "Its the stuff RC is made of."

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