As they pulled into town, Lisl asked Bill to drop her off at the downtown lot where she'd left her car.
"Thanks for the ride, Will. It was great. But I want to get you and Rafe together real soon. He'll open your eyes. Wait and see—it'll be the best thing that ever happened to you."
She waved, then turned and headed for her car. Bill felt a terrible sadness as he watched her go.
I'm losing her.
Not losing her body, not her love—they weren't the important things for Bill where Lisl was concerned—but her mind, her soul.
Rafe. What was he doing to her? His involvement here seemed almost… sinister. But that had to be Bill's latent paranoia rearing its head. There was no plot here. Rafe was simply drawing Lisl into his own warped view of the world. Warped people tended to do that.
But in doing so he was turning Bill's only friend in the world •into a stranger. Bill wasn't going to allow that. Lisl was too innocent, too decent a person at heart for him to sit back and watch all that was good within her get sucked down the black hole of a philosophy like Rafe's.
He had to help her fight back, even if she didn't want to fight back.
Bill knew he was late coming to the battle. He hadn't even known it was being waged until today. But he could not sit on the sidelines any longer.
The first order of business was to learn a little more about Rafe Losmara.
TWENTY-ONE
Everett Sanders sat alone in his office and chewed his twentieth white grape. He hadn't been able to find any decent peaches yesterday, so he'd settled for the grapes. He folded the Ziploc bag he'd brought them in and slipped it back into his brown paper lunch bag. He stashed the bag in his briefcase.
There. Lunch was done. Time for cigarette number six. He lit up and reached for his novel of the week: The Scarlatti Inheritance by Robert Ludlum. He was enjoying it immensely; so much so that he had read well past yesterday's quota of pages last night. He pulled the little notebook from his breast pocket. Yes, there it was. Last night's entry. He had actually completed today's quota before he'd finally turned in.
Which left Ev in something of a quandary. Any more reading during his lunch break today would put him further ahead, opening the possibility of having nothing to read on Saturday. Of course he could ahvays start next week's book—usually first opened on Sunday afternoon—on Saturday, but that would move everything out of sequence for the coming week and he might be faced with an even worse problem next weekend.
A domino dilemma. Perhaps a book of short stories might solve the problem… he could sample a few as needed and then—
No. It was novels he liked and novels he would read.
Why not skip reading altogether today? It was Wednesday, after all, and he did have the meeting tonight. If he stayed a little later he could come home and go directly to bed at his usual hour of 11:30, immediately after the late news. All he had to do now was find a way to kill the lunch-hour time and he'd be almost home free.
But he had no backup plan for this lunch hour. That meant free time. Ev didn't like free time. It wasn't good for him. He knew from past experience that if he allowed his thoughts to roam free too long, they would roam the wrong way.
He was tempted to turn on his terminal and work on his paper for Palo Alto, but he had allotted time elsewhere in the day for that. He couldn't do that now.
Ev began to feel the first twinges of anxiety.
He went to the window and looked out to where Lisl used to take her lunch. He hadn't seen her with the groundskeeper lately. Maybe it was too cool these days for lunch al fresco.
As he smoked his cigarette and stared out at the deserted knoll, he began to experience another reason for avoiding unoccupied time: loneliness. A cluttered day left no time to ponder the emptiness of his existence.
And it is empty, isn't it?
He sighed as he exhaled the last of his cigarette. But that was how it had to be, at least for the time being. Perhaps in a few years, if he found the right someone, someone who could understand and accept him, he might be ready to make another commitment. He'd be past forty-five then. Kind of late in life to be thinking of marriage again. But other people did it all the time, so why couldn't he?
Perhaps because his first marriage had been so painful. Poor, long-suffering Diane—what he had put her through. She'd hung on longer than anyone had a right to expect while their marriage had died a lingering death, all because of him. Someday he might have the courage to try again and get it right the second time, but such a thing was impossible now. He still loved Diane.
He lit cigarette number seven and strolled into the hall. He had a sudden craving for human company but did not expect to find it in the department at lunch hour. Most of the faculty retreated to the lounge where they could eat in peace without interruption from students with questions and problems. Still, it was worth a look.
He pulled up short as he passed Lisl's office. The door was open and someone was in there. He backed up a step. Lisl, working away at her terminal. Industry. He liked that, especially in a woman. He hesitated, then knocked on her door frame.
"Working hard?" he said.
Lisl turned with a startled expression, then she smiled. She had a wonderful smile.
"Ev! How are you? What's up?"
"Nothing. Just wandering the halls, looking for someone to talk to. But if I'm disturbing you—"
"Don't be silly. Come in, come in. Let me exit this"—she pressed a couple of keys and her terminal beeped—"and we'll talk."
She rose from her terminal and approached her desk, motioning him to one of the chairs. She'd lost more weight and was very trim now. Absolutely smashing in her snug sweater and knee-length skirt. Not at all what one would expect in a mathematics professor. That gave Ev a twinge of concern. Lisl's level of attractiveness bordered on the unprofessional. A student might find it very difficult to concentrate on her words when she was parading before the class. He wondered if he should mention it to her… purely as a friend. Then again, maybe he should mind his own business.
"So," he said as he sat down, "working on your paper?"
"Yes. It's coming along pretty well. How about yours?"
"Oh, I'm bogged down on some of the calculations, but I think it's all going to work out in the end."
He wondered what her topic was but knew it wouldn't be proper to ask. He was sure she'd have a good paper, but he was also sure his would be better. He was very excited about it.
Silence hung between them.
"So," she said finally, "what have you been up to lately besides your paper? Anything exciting?"
He had to laugh. Exciting? Me? Excitement implied spontaneity, and for Ev spontaneity meant trouble. He had painstakingly arranged his life to eliminate the unexpected, structured his days so that each one followed a predictable pattern, so that every Tuesday was just like every other Tuesday. Excitement? There was no room in his life for excitement. He had carefully seen to that.
"Well, I'm reading a rather exciting novel at the moment—an oldie but'a goodie, you might say. It's—"
"Excuse me," said a voice behind him. "Am I interrupting something?"
Ev turned and saw that Losmara fellow Lisl had been keeping company with. He wondered what she saw in him. He was not at all the sort Ev would have matched with Lisa. Too delicate. Lisa seemed the type who'd be more at home with a beefier male, one with more physical presence. But none of this was any real concern of his. Over the years he'd learned to mind his own business.
"Hi, Rafe," Lisl said. "You remember Dr. Sanders?"
"Of course," Losmara said, stepping forward and extending his hand. "I've been auditing a few of your lectures."
"Have you now?" Ev said, rising and shaking hands. "I don't remember seeing you there."
The young man smiled. "I usually take a seat in a back row. I'm there just to listen, to keep a honed edge on my math. You can't let your math get rusty in my end of psych."
Ev felt his attitude toward L
osmara warming. Maybe there was more to him than he'd thought, some real depth behind that dandified, rich-kid appearance.
"I hope they're useful."
"They're telling me what I want to know."
Ev saw a look pass between Lisl and Losmara and realized he was a fifth wheel here.
"Well, I've got some odds and ends to clear up in my office. Nice talking to you, Lisl. And good luck to you, Mr. Losmara."
They shook hands again and Ev left the two lovers alone. He still didn't approve of faculty-student affairs, even when there was no academic relationship, but he had to admit that Rafe Losmara's attitude toward learning indicated that he had the makings of a fine scholar.
"You're auditing Ev's lectures?" Lisl said after she'd closed her office door.
Rafe smiled. "Know thine enemy."
"Ev's not an enemy."
"You wouldn't think someone as prissy and ineffective as he could pose a threat, but don't be surprised when he gets tenure and you're left out in the cold."
"He won't if my paper's as good as I think it is—as you say it is."
"The relative quality of your papers is irrelevant. In the end the only thing that will matter is sex."
"Sex?"
"Yes. He's a male. You're a female. He'll get the post because of his ' Y' chromosome, because of what hangs between his legs."
"Bull, Rafe."
He'd alluded to this before but Lisl refused to buy it. Still wouldn't.
Rafe shrugged. "Suit yourself. Stick your head in the sand and hope for the best. That's the way Primes always get cheated out of what they deserve—they let the leeches snatch it from under their noses."
"Ev's not a leech. He's one of us."
"Ev?" He barked a laugh. "Everett Sanders? A Prime? You've got to be kidding!"
"He's got a brilliant mind, Rafe. One of the cleverest mathematicians I've ever met. He stands alone, he doesn't need the approval of the crowd—an island if there ever was one. All the things you say distinguish a Prime."
"He's a nonentity, a misfit, little more than an actor," Rafe said. His voice dripped with scorn. "He plays at being a whiz but he's nothing more than an accomplished poseur."
When Rafe got like this—sniping at her opinions, goading her—she could almost hate him.
"You're not qualified to judge his work!" Lisl snapped.
The remark had the desired effect. Rafe turned to her with raised eyebrows, a smile playing about his lips.
"But I'm not judging his work, Lisl. I'm judging the man. I say he's one of them, and with a little help from you, I can prove it."
Lisl took a deep breath. She was almost afraid to hear this.
"What sort of help?"
"His keys. Get me his keys for half an hour and I'll have what I need."
"How can I—?"
"Make up a story. You lost your key to the front door of the building or something. Charm him, but get those keys."
"And what are you going to do with them?"
"Never mind." His half smile broadened into a grin. "You'll know soon enough. Do you accept the challenge?"
Without replying, Lisl walked past him, through the door, and down the hall. She knocked on Ev's open door.
"Ev?" she said as he looked up from his desk. "I left my storeroom key home. Can I borrow yours?"
"Of course, Lisl."
He went to his suit coat that was neatly hung on a hanger behind the door, reached into a side pocket, and produced a jangle of keys. He picked out one and held it up for her as he handed her the entire ring.
"This one's for the storeroom," he said.
"I'll get these right back to you," she said.
"No hurry, Lisl," he said with a smile. "I trust you."
Damn, she thought as she thanked him. Why'd you have to say that?
Lisl's pace was slower as she headed back to her office. She had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sudden urge to run back and wrap the key ring in Ev's bony fingers and tell him never, never, never to let her get near them again. But she couldn't give into that sort of groundless feeling. What would Rafe think?
There were times—and this was one of them—when she wondered if she let what Rafe thought matter too much to her. But she couldn't help it. It did matter. Rafe mattered. And she was so afraid he would find her out, afraid she'd do something to give herself away. Because she was convinced she wasn't really a Prime. Sure, Rafe called her one and didn't seem to have any doubts about it, but Lisl was riddled with them. She felt like a fake. She'd read where a lot of accomplished people—neu-rosurgeons, judges, statesmen—felt the same way… felt deep inside that their lives were shams, that their success had been a combination of luck and cleverness and that they were nothing at all like the brilliant individuals people perceived them to be, that they lived in fear of the misstep that would reveal their true nothing selves.
Lisl had experienced vaguely similar feelings all through college and her post-graduate training. The work had been a breeze, her professors had told her time and again what a brilliant mind she had as they'd raved about her papers, yet deep inside she'd never believed them. Rafe, she was sure, would lay the blame for all her insecurities on the way her parents had treated her, but finger pointing wouldn't help Lisl get past the idea that all her academic accomplishments were nothing more than a bubble that one day would burst and allow the world to see the naked, frightened, inadequate little girl inside.
Lisl was sure Brian had peeked inside the bubble. That had to be why he'd left her. She wasn't going to let Rafe find out. She'd go on acting like one of his Primes as long as she could get away with it. It was mostly an attitude, of dividing up the world into people who mattered and people who didn't, the few worth knowing and the great many not worth thinking about. She'd been practicing. It didn't come naturally but she was getting the hang of it. And maybe if she acted like a Prime long enough, she'd actually become one.
So she'd let Rafe have the keys, but she wasn't going to let him pull any of his tricks on Ev. Ev was too nice a man.
She returned to her office and dropped the key ring in his outstretched palm.
"Here they are," she said. "But I hope you're not planning any nastiness."
Rafe shrugged. "Dirty tricks? They're fun, but we've pulled enough of them on Brian during the last month to carry us the rest of the year, don't you think?"
Lisl had to smile. Yes, they had indeed. They'd purchased subscriptions to The Advocate and other homosexual publications for his office waiting room; Rafe had applied for membership in NAMBLA—the North American Man-Boy Love Association—in Brian's name; and on a couple of occasions they'd sat in his waiting room and slipped samples of hardcore gay pornography between the pages of People and Time and Good Housekeeping. Dr. Brian Callahan's sexual orientation was now seriously in question among his peers at the medical center.
The piece de resistance had been the sign they had taped to the passenger side of Brian's black Porsche one night shortly before he'd driven it home from the hospital. In fluorescent orange letters on black paper it had read: BACK OFF! THIS CAR KILLS NIGGERS
WHO TOUCH IT!
It had been dark in the parking lot and Brian had approached on the driver side. He had no inkling of the sign's existence until he pulled to a stop at a light in the downtown black section and a group of infuriated youths attacked the car. Lisl and Rafe had been following a few car lengths behind. They watched the kids pound on his windows, break off his radio and car phone antennae, and kick dents in his doors and fenders. Lisl was shocked when she caught herself avidly hoping they'd get a door open and vent some of their rage on Brian himself. The idea that she could hunger for something like that sickened her. Everyone had a dark side, but hers seemed so close to the surface now. That worried her.
But Brian roared away before they could touch him. Before he got away, the kids tore off the sign and shredded it, so no doubt he still was baffled as to what had precipitated the attack on his car.
But she'd/noticed him taking a longer, more circuitous route home these days.
"They seem kind of childish now," Lisl said, worrying anew about the darkness she had discovered within herself.
"That's because they've served their purpose. They taught you that he does not have all the power, that you actually have power over him. You can make his life miserable when you choose and you can leave him alone when you choose. When you choose—that's the lesson. And now that you've learned it we can move on to other things, leaving Dr. Callahan lying awake at nights wondering who, wondering why, wondering what next?"
"I don't want to leave Ev like that."
"Don't worry. We're just going to do a little snooping on Professor Sanders. That's all. See what makes him tick."
"Nothing more. You promise?"
"I won't need anything more to prove to you that he's a phony."
"You're wrong this time, Rafe. I think Ev is one of those people where what you see is what you get."
"There is no such person," Rafe snapped. "And I'll prove it to you tonight when we search his apartment."
Lisl's stomach lurched. Wasn't that breaking and entering? And wasn't that going just a bit too far? But she couldn't back down. Not now. She couldn't surrender to Rafe's theory about Ev. Because she knew he was wrong.
"We can't do that. Not—not while he's there."
"He won't be," Rafe said. "It's Wednesday night. He goes out every Wednesday night."
"He does?" She had difficulty imagining Ev going out at all. "Where?"
"I don't know. Maybe we'll follow him sometime. But tonight we'll take advantage of his unfailing routine and check out his digs, see what makes him tick."
"Is this fair, Rafe?"
He laughed. "Fair? What's fair got to do with it? This is a leech posing as a Prime! We've got to set things right."
"Why do we have to—"
"In fact," Rafe went on, beginning to move about the office, slashing the air with his hand, "I've got a feeling Dr. Everett Sanders is a fag."
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