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“Is Professor Beck at home?” Cindy attempted a friendly smile.
The lady’s mouth tightened to a grim line. “What’s it about?”
“I’m a former student,” she explained. “I wanted to ask some questions about a project of mine.”
“Wait here.” The door closed smartly in her face.
Cindy shrugged inwardly. No point in getting uptight about it. Dress like a devil slut, get treated like a devil slut. Simple.
Her musings were cut short when the door was yanked open again. This time, Porky was behind it. His initial puzzlement quickly warmed into an appreciative leer, but there was no recognition in it.
Just as well. She didn’t really want him to remember her D+.
She zapped him with her incandescent bubblehead smile, and he waved her right on in. He flung a fleshy arm around her shoulders, fingers in position to start their sneaky downward creep, and led her through a series of luxurious rooms. She wondered how a place could stink of money and still be so butt-ugly. The place had a cold, professional vibe that suggested a decorator’s high concept design, not a home. Like the lobby of a wealthy lawyer’s office.
He led her down broad marble steps into a sunken living room, and plunked her down on one of several plushy, cream-colored leather couches, grouped around a low, gleaming ebony table which was longer and wider than a queen-sized bed. A stark, spiky red flower arrangement was perched in the exact middle of it.
“So, my dear, what can I help you with? And would you refresh my memory again? I have so many students, you see. I remember your lovely face, of course, that’s unforgettable.”
“I’m Cynthia Riggs.” The eyelash treatment, a tit-enhancing tilt to the rib cage, and a slow, deliberate re-crossing of the legs, a la Sharon Stone. “I just graduated this June. I took your course two years ago. It was totally great,” she gushed. “I’m not a science type, but you made it so interesting somehow. Even kind of beautiful. That may sound dumb to you, but I just don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Thank you.” He sat down close to her so their legs almost touched. “But you didn’t come here just to give me compliments.”
She giggled. “Um, no. It’s about a personal project of mine.”
His knee made contact. “I love personal projects.” His eyes glowed with fascinated curiosity, lit up from behind by plain old lust.
“I could probably have asked other people these questions, but I decided to come to you, first.” She gave him a fluttery sidelong glance. “You’re so, like, approachable, you know?”
His arm shifted so that it touched her bare shoulders. “You can’t imagine how much pleasure it gives me to hear that, Cynthia.”
She let her lashes sweep down. “I’ve been doing some writing lately, and I’m getting really into, like, biographical projects? And I got to thinking I could, um, write a biography of a local person?”
He frowned. “A historical personage, you mean?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. Modern day.”
“That’s fascinating, but it’s not my field,” he said regretfully. “If you like, the director of the Young Writers’ Workshop at the Arts Center is a personal friend of mine. I would be delighted to introduce him to such an attractive, well-spoken young woman.”
“Oh, thanks!” she burbled. “That would be fabulous! But actually, I didn’t want to ask about writing. I wanted to ask about the person I mean to write about, because you actually, like, knew him.”
Porky’s eyes widened. “You tease me. Who is this mystery man?”
Here it was. The deep end of the pool. She took a deep breath, and dove. “Kevin McCloud.”
Everything changed. The temperature of the room plummeted. The smile on Porky’s face flash-froze in the meat locker chill.
Suddenly, his fingers weren’t inching down below her collarbone anymore. His arm was up on the back of the couch. His knee was a full two inches from hers. His mask of fascinated curiosity was gone, along with the lust that had animated it. His eyes had gone totally blank.
She was spooked. She felt very young, and very alone, and very stupid to mess with stuff that wasn’t her goddamn business.
He cleared his throat. “You might be mistaken about my knowing this person, Cynthia. That name doesn’t ring any bells in my mind.”
Yeah, right. Liar, liar, pants on fire. It rang car alarms in his mind. She widened her eyes. “I heard you guys knew each other,” she said earnestly. “Back when you were doing research at University of Washington? And he was student teaching for you for a while, right?”
His eyes flicked away. “Ah. So we’re talking a good long while back? It is a somewhat common name, after all…oh, wait. Are you by any chance referring to that poor young man with the mental problems? The one who took his own life some years ago?”
“Yeah, that’s him!” Innocent, blinky-blinky puppy dog eyes. “God, it was, like, so incredibly sad, huh? So you did know him, then?”
