He considered mentioning his daily challenge—standing outside Raftery's Tavern every time he passed and staring in the window for exactly one minute, daring the booze to try to lure him in—but decided against it. Someone else here might decide to try the dare… and lose. He didn't want to be responsible for that. He figured he'd said enough.
"So that's it. I've been dry for ten years now. I went back to school, got my doctorate, and now I'm doing exactly what I want to do. I'm back in the driver seat—for good. Thank you for listening."
As he sat down to a round of applause, he thought he heard hurried footsteps in the hall outside. He heard the upstairs door slam. Had someone left while he was speaking? He shrugged. It didn't matter. He'd spoken his piece, done his share. That was what counted.
Lisl composed her emotions as she crossed the street. Ev's story had shocked and moved her. Before tonight he had seemed little more than a collection of compulsive mannerisms. Mr. Machine. Now he was a person, a flesh-and-blood man with a past and a terrible problem, one he had been able to overcome. He'd beaten the bottle, but he didn't trumpet it around like some recovering alcoholics on the faculty; it was Ev's private victory, one he'd kept to himself. Lisl was proud of him, and suddenly proud to know him. And if he wanted his past kept secret, it was safe with her.
She stopped on the sidewalk before the shadowed doorway.
"Let's head back to the car, Rafe."
He stepped out into the light and looked at her expectantly.
"Well?"
"Well, nothing. It was a prayer meeting, that's all. Just a bunch of people sitting around reading from the Bible and stuff like that."
Rafe only stared at her. She hooked her arm through his and started them walking back the way they had come. His voice was very soft when he spoke.
"You wouldn't be telling me a story now, Lisl, would you?"
"And what if I was? What difference would it make?"
"Primes shouldn't lie to each other. I've always been completely honest with you. I expect the same."
Fine. Now she was trapped between two guilts: betray Ev's secret or betray Rafe's trust. She wished they'd stayed home in bed tonight.
"Can't we just drop this whole subject? I'll concede to your position that Ev isn't a Prime and we'll let it go at that, okay?"
Rafe stopped and turned her toward him. His intense stare made her uncomfortable.
"You're protecting him," he said. "Don't do that. He's one of them. He's not worthy of your misdirected loyalty. He wouldn't do the same for you."
"You don't know that."
Rafe sighed. "All right. I'll take you off the hook you've impaled yourself on. I know it's an AA meeting."
Lisl was shocked—and furious.
"You know? You've known all along?"
"I followed him here a couple of weeks ago."
"Then why this cloak-and-dagger charade stuff tonight?"
"Because if I'd told you last week that he's an alcoholic, would you have believed me?"
"Yes," she said immediately, then thought about it. "No. I guess not."
"Exactly. That's why I had to let you find out for yourself. Now there's no question in your mind that he belongs with them instead of us."
"On the contrary. The very fact that he's overcome his alcoholism is proof that he is a Prime. If he weren't, he'd be drunk in a gutter somewhere instead of on the Darnell faculty."
They started walking again.
"I don't know about that. If you think about it you'll see that he really hasn't beaten his problem with alcohol, he's merely found a way to hide from it. He's organized his life in such a way that he never comes within arm's reach of liquor, which is why you've never seen him at faculty parties. That's not conquering the problem, that's running from it. It's the coward's way."
"That's not fair. Alcohol is a toxin for him. I've read that a good percentage of alcoholics have different brain chemistries than the rest of us, and that alcohol does things to them that it doesn't do to you or me. It's not cowardice to avoid something that's poison to your system."
"If he were a Prime, he'd be able to surround himself with liquor and not touch a drop. Or better yet, he'd be able to control himself—have a drink or two and then switch to ginger ale. But he's not a Prime."
"Prime, shmime," Lisl said, wearying of the subject. "Who cares whether Ev is or isn't? What's the point?"
"Very simply, Lisl," he said slowly, and she could hear real anger in his voice, "the point is this: Everett Sanders is your intellectual inferior, yet he is going to move ahead of you in the department simply because he is a man. It's the same pattern as always. They move one of their own ahead and leave you behind where they can still get the benefit of your work and brains and innovation yet give the credit and status to a lesser mind. It infuriates me every time I see it happen and I will not permit it to happen to you!"
"Easy, Rafe. You don't know if that's going to happen. There's no sense in getting yourself all riled up when—"
"Lisl, it's already been decided."
The words struck her like a blow. She stumbled against Rafe as her feet refused to walk any further.
"What? How can you say that?"
"I overheard your pal Sanders talking to Dr. Masterson at lunch last month—"
"Last month? And you didn't tell me?"
She could see his face in the glow of the streetlight. His expression was tortured.
"I didn't know how to tell you. I knew it would hurt you. I… I was afraid it would crush your spirit."
For the first time since she'd met him, Rafe seemed unsure of himself. And all because of his feelings for her. At any other time it would have warmed Lisl, but the good feeling was swept away by the arctic wind of her growing anger.
"What exactly did they say?"
"I caught only part of it, but I heard the chairman saying that he hoped your paper wasn't very good, because if it was he'd have to do some fast talking to explain to you why he was giving Ev tenure instead of you. He asked Sanders if he had any suggestions on how to let you down easy so you wouldn't start applying to other universities."
"What did Ev say?"
"I don't know. I was too angry to listen. It was right after that I started auditing Sanders's classes. I wanted to do something but I didn't know what. At least I didn't then. I know now."
"What?" Lisl said eagerly. She felt betrayed, hemmed in, and utterly helpless. If Rafe knew a way out, she'd take it.
"Follow me."
He took her hand and led her across the street toward an apartment building. She recognized it immediately.
"Ev's place? What are we going to—?"
"Just trust me. You'll see."
Using the duplicates of Ev's keys, he led her inside and up to the apartment.
"Isn't this a little risky? I mean, he could come back at any minute."
"Those meetings average a good two hours or more." He opened the door and led her to the kitchen counter where he turned and faced her. "We've got plenty of time."
"For what?"
Rage reached inside his jacket pocket and held out a slim glass tube.
"For this."
She took it and held it up to the light. A test tube, filled with clear fluid. It looked like water but Lisl knew it wasn't. Suddenly she was uneasy.
"What is it, Rafe?"
"Pull the stopper and sniff."
She did. There was a very faint odor, too faint to identify.
"I don't know…"
"Absolute ethanol. Pure alcohol. Nearly odorless, almost tasteless when mixed with fruit juice."
"Oh, no," she said as she felt her stomach begin to tighten. "You can't be serious."
Rafe went to the refrigerator and brought back an open half gallon of orange juice. He placed it on the counter between them.
"I've never been more serious in my whole life. Pour it in, Lisl."
"No. I can't do that to Ev!"
"Why not?"
"Because it's
poison for him!"
"It's only an ounce, Lisl. Two tablespoons."
"That doesn't matter. Even a drop could start chemical reactions in his brain and knock him off the wagon. We could be sending him off on a real bender."
Rafe shrugged. "If that's what he wants, then so be it."
"Rafe, it'll have nothing to do with what he wants—he won't be able to control it!"
"If he's a Prime, he will be able to control it. If he's one of us he'll be able to shake off two tablespoons of ethanol and stay on track. And if he can do that, maybe he should get tenure. But if he can't…"
"We could be ruining his life."
Rafe shook his head. "That's a bit melodramatic, don't you think? He knows the problem. He's controlled it before. Even if he's not a Prime, he can control it again. But if he does go on a bender, it will open Masterson's eyes—and the university administration's, as well—to the caliber of the man they've handpicked for tenure over you."
"It's not fair, Rafe."
Rafe's eyes grew cold, flinty.
"Fair? What's fair? You've been playing by the rules, devoting your spare time to this paper, thinking you really had a shot at the spot while all the while the choice has already been made. Can't you just hear Ev going to Masterson and whining, 'You're not really thinking of giving the position to her, are you?' And meanwhile you're going to Masterson for advice and he's thinking what a sucker you are! Don't talk to me about fair, Lisl!"
He opened the mouth of the cardboard container and pushed it toward her.
"Pour."
"Maybe I should drink it myself—about half a dozen of them would help me right now."
"No drugs, Lisl," Rafe said, leaning over her shoulder, speaking softly into her ear. "Nothing to muffle the inhibitions that people like Sanders and Masterson and your parents and all the rest have conditioned into you. You must face those inhibitions, Lisl, and you must subdue them, beat them into the mud until they are powerless to hold you back. You must be strong, you must toss away all excuses. Never blame your actions on outside influences. No excuses, no scapegoats—'It was the drugs.' 'It was the booze.' It must be you and you alone—nothing between you and what you do. And you must be proud, Lisl. No shame. Ever."
The diamond-shaped opening yawned before her. She tried to be cool, be rational about this, but the thought of Masterson encouraging her to write her paper even though he had already made his decision stoked the fiery anger that had begun to blaze within her. And Ev—Ev was in on it.
With a groan, she upended the tube over the opening.
"Yes!" Rafe said in a harsh whisper.
He took the container, closed the top, and shook up the contents. Then he replaced it in the refrigerator.
"Let's go," he said, turning to Lisl and taking the empty test tube from her fingers.
Lisl stood there unmoving, feeling numb, queasy.
What have I done?
Rafe took her arm and she allowed herself to be led from the apartment, down the stairs, and to his car. She felt as if she were moving in a dream.
"I want to go back," she said. "Let's pour that juice down the drain and forget about the whole thing."
"No, Lisl. Remember what I told you. No regrets, no looking back. We make our own rules. We answer only to ourselves."
"That's what frightens me the most."
"You'll see," Rafe said as he started the car and pulled into the traffic. "This will bring everything into focus for you. You've just passed your test of fire. You've thrown off one more set of chains. Now comes Everett Sanders's trial. Now he gets a chance to prove what he's made of." He reached over and squeezed Lisl's hand. "I'm so proud of you."
"Are you really?"
"Yes. Enormously."
Then why do I feel so ashamed?
TWENTY-THREE
Ev had been feeling strange all day. Slightly woozy, slightly off kilter. Jittery. On edge. Lethargic and yet hyped up. Oddly elated yet all the while suffused with an aura of impending doom.
Sitting at his office desk, staring at the late afternoon sun that poured through 'he window, he tried to sort out the odd conglomeration of symptoms that had plagued him since he'd left his apartment this morning. But it was difficult to sort out anything today. His powers of concentration, usually so sharp-focused, had all but deserted him.
So uncomfortable. Sweaty one moment, chilled the next. He felt as if his heart were racing yet he'd checked his pulse numerous times and found it chugging in the low nineties—high for him but certainly not extraordinary. He wondered if it could be the start of a virus—February was flu season, after all—but although he felt feverish, he'd stopped by the infirmary and his temperature had been normal.
Blood sugar. Could he be hypoglycemic? Unlikely. He'd had his usual breakfast of o-j, toast with Fleischmann's margarine, Grape-Nuts with skim milk, and coffee; his lunch had been the usual tuna-fish salad on whole wheat that he had every Thursday. So why would his blood sugar be down? Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe the accumulated caffeine from twenty cups a day for umpteen years was finally catching up to him. He couldn't think of anything else that would get to him like this.
Maybe his body was telling him it was time to cut down. Perhaps that would salve these jangled nerves.
"Ev? Are you all right?"
He swung about in his chair. It was Lisl, standing in the doorway, a worried look on her face.
All right? Why would she ask that? Was something wrong? Did he look sick?
"No. I'm fine," he said, hoping he sounded convincing. "Just fine. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I don't know. I just wanted to know." She bit her upper lip. "I mean, you looked a little pale."
He looked pale? Lisl looked awful. Her face was drawn and haggard, with dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink all night.
Ev rose and approached her.
"I'm fine, Lisl. But what about you? You look—"
She turned and hurried down the hall. Bewildered, Ev stood in his doorway and watched her go. First she was so solicitous about how he felt, then she turned and left him while he was talking to her. She seemed unnerved. The only time he could remember seeing her this upset was back in December when she had told him about that phone call—
The phone call! Had she received another one? Damm it, he'd forgotten to call that detective. What was wrong with him today? As a rule, he never forgot things like that. Well, he wouldn't waste another minute.
He pulled the telephone number from his wallet and dialed it immediately. This time the detective answered when his room was rung.
"Yeah?" said a New York-inflected voice.
"Is this Detective Augustino? This is Professor Sanders. We spoke last week about—"
"Right, right. On the steps. Did you place the guy in the photo?"
"Yes. I 'believe he's one of the groundskeepers here at the university."
"No shit! You're sure? You're really sure? What's his name?"
Ev could almost feel the excitement pouring through the wire from the other end.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" The voice became irate. "What do you mean, you don't know? What kind of a scam do you—?
"Listen, Detective. I've seen the man around here for years but
I simply do not know his name, just as I'm sure you don't know the name of the janitors who clean your barracks in Raleigh. He's changed his appearance quite a bit since that photo was taken but I'm convinced he's your man. Now if this is the sort of thanks I get—"
"You're right," the detective said through a sigh. "Sorry. Do you know where I can find him?"
"No. But I'm sure if you check with personnel tomorrow they'll be able to help you."
"Tomorrow? What's wrong with today?"
"The administrative offices are closing even as we speak. They reopen at eight in the morning." Ev found he had no further patience for this obnoxious state cop. "You're welcome," he said, and hung up.
He felt sha
ky as he rose and reached for his coat. At least that was over with. He'd be glad to get back home where he had everything under control.
He passed List's office on the way out but her door was closed. It looked like she'd left for home ahead of him.
Ev felt a mounting anxiety during the bus ride home, an almost-desperate desire to reach the far side of his apartment door and lock it. He couldn't fight the rising fear that something terrible was going to happen if he didn't.
When he stepped off the bus, he headed for home at double time, but forced himself to stop outside Raftery's for his daily test of will. He glanced at his watch, then began his one-minute stare through the nicotine-fogged window.
All the regulars were there, lined up on their usual stools at the bar, sipping their Scotches and their gins, talking and laughing. But instead of the disdain he usually felt for such wasted time, money, and liver cells, Ev was almost overcome by a wave of nostalgia.
Those were the good old days, when he could walk into his neighborhood tavern in Charlotte and be greeted by a chorus of hellos, where he could sit among friends and talk and swear and laugh and drink from late afternoon until the early hours of the morning. The fellowship, the camaraderie, the sense of belonging, for some reason he missed it today more than any other time in recent memory. The longing for companionship was an expanding void within him. If he could only have that back, just for a few hours—
Ev caught himself with his fingers on the brass door handle, pulling it open. He snatched his hand away as if he'd received an electric shock and all but ran for his apartment.
Once inside, with the door safely locked behind him, he slumped in the recliner and panted from the exertion of running up the three flights of stairs. He hadn't even stopped to pick up his mail.
What's wrong with me?
It had to be his blood sugar. There was no other possible reason why he should feel so shaky. He had to eat something to get it up.
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