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“Brady? If it’s Brady’s, swear to God I’ll kill you.” Brady lived down the hall. He was a terrific guy, an ideal fraternity brother, the type who, on a moment’s notice and without any complaint, would come out and get you if your car broke down on a snowy night. Brady had a heart of gold. Personal hygiene, however, wasn’t one of his strong suits.
“Not Brady.”
“Castro? Jesus, please tell me it’s not Castro’s,” Todd groaned. “That fucker’s diseased!” The second man under consideration wasn’t Cuban. His real name was Ernie Campello. He’d been dubbed Castro because of his talent for growing curly black hair, not only on his head and the lower half of his face, but all over his body. “God only knows what’s crawling around in that pelt of his.”
Roark laughed at that, then said, “Lisa somebody called.”
The casual statement instantly doused Todd’s anger. “Lisa Knowles?”
“Sounds right.”
“When?”
“Five minutes ago.”
“Did she leave a message?”
“Do I look like a secretary?”
“You look like an asshole with teeth. What’d she say?”
“She said you had a pencil-dick. Or did she say needle-dick? Gee, Todd, I can’t remember. Sorry. But I did write down her number. It’s on your desk.”
“I’ll call her later.”
“Who is she? Is she hot?”
“Yeah, but she’s seeing some Delt. She’s in my North American history class and she needs notes.”
“Too bad.”
Todd shot his grinning roommate a dirty look, then tossed the offensive cup into their trash can. He’d been showering in the communal bathroom down the hall when Roark sneaked in and put his toothbrush in tobacco-laced sputum.
“Don’t be pissed,” Roark said as Todd rummaged in a bureau drawer for a pair of boxers. “It was a damn good joke and worth the expense of a new
toothbrush. It was worth twice the expense.”
“Are you going to tell me whose it was?”
“Don’t know. Found it on a windowsill on the third floor.”
“Jesus. It could be anybody’s.”
“That was the general idea.”
“I’ll get you back,” Todd threatened as he pulled on a T-shirt. “I mean it. You’ve just screwed yourself but good, buddy.”
Roark merely laughed.
“Didn’t you have anything better to do? You’ve been lying on your ass all day.”
“Gotta finish this over the weekend.” Roark held up a paperback copy of The Great Gatsby.
Todd snorted scornfully. “The most pussy-whipped character in the history of American fiction. Want to go get something to eat?”
“Sure.” Roark rolled off the sofa and shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers. As they went through the door, he and Todd ritualistically kissed their fingers and slapped them against the Playmate of the Month on their calendar. “Later, sweetheart.”
* * *
