Murphy's Law

by Lisa Marie Rice

  His head hurt. His knee hurt. Remembering hurt. It all hurt.

  “Well, what happened was this. I was—I was blown away when the doctor said I’d never play again. I just couldn’t wrap my mind round the thought. The bottom just dropped out of my life. So I decided to go out and get drunk. Stinking drunk. And I did. I got totally wasted.”

  Lou rolled her eyes. “Typical male reaction.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m still paying for it, so don’t crow. Anyway, by the time I got done, I could barely walk. I stopped by your house for a little sympathy, but you weren’t there.” Nick’s eyes slid to Lou. Maybe he could shift some of the blame here.

  Lou’s gaze was level. “I’m a busy woman. Some of us have serious jobs. Go on.”

  So that wasn’t going to work.

  “Well, I was buzzing your door when Faith walked into the building. I wanted company, so I asked her out for a drink and then—then things just went on from there.”

  “Things?”

  “Yeah.” Nick shifted uneasily. “You know. Things.”

  “You weren’t…” Lou hesitated. “You weren’t violent, were you?”

  “Of course not,” Nick snapped, annoyed. There were gaping holes in his memory but what memories there were, were almost unbearably sweet—and satisfying. Oh God. Pale slender legs hugging his hips, tight and warm and welcoming between them. He couldn’t be violent with any woman, let alone someone as delicate as Faith. Then his head shot up. “Why?”

  “Well,” Lou said, troubled, “I saw Faith yesterday, like I said. I invited her up for a cup of coffee and said I was going to stop by your house later and did she want to come along? She turned pale and got very upset. Then she said she couldn’t tag along because she was leaving in a hurry. She was off to some conference, called in at the last minute. A mathematics conference in Italy. In Siena, of all places.”

  “Siena?” Nick’s voice was sharp. “So that’s why—” That’s why she isn’t answering. He’d called a thousand times, had buzzed her doorbell until his own head had buzzed. “What’s she doing in Siena?”

  “A conference. I just told you that, Nick.” Lou gave him a withering glare. It was unfortunate that Lou’s tongue was as sharp as her eyes. “Start paying some attention here. This is your life.”

  “So…“ Nick tried to keep his voice casual. “When is she coming back?” Maybe he could pick her up at the airport, pick up where they left off…

  “Do you know—” Lou frowned. “I didn’t ask. I was too busy telling her how pretty Siena was and how much she was going to enjoy it. I told her all our Rossi cousins lived in Siena. I gave Dante a quick call and told him to look her up.”

  “Dante!” Nick half rose out of his chair, then put a hand to his head. He’d hurt himself with his own voice. “Why would you want to call Dante? Why not Mike?” Mike was on the other side of forty, overweight and happily married with two kids.

  “Because.” Lou glared at him. “Dante has more time to show her the sights. But you’re evading, Nick. I want to know exactly what happened between you and Faith. And I especially want to know why Faith looked so unhappy when I mentioned your name.”

  But Nick wasn’t listening. “If Dante puts any moves on her, I swear I’ll kill him.” Nick’s head swiveled at the sound of the phone and he groaned. “Get that, will you, Lou? I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “Okay.” Lou rose gracefully. “But don’t think you’re off the hook. Hello? Hello?” She hung up. “Wrong number. But come to think of it, I left you a message on your answering machine. Have you been listening to your messages?”

  “Ah…no.”

  “You shouldn’t be let out loose.” Lou looked around. “Where’s the machine?”

  “In the gulag. I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Lou made an exasperated noise and disappeared. Nick was cautiously contemplating the idea of food for the first time in two days when Lou called out. “Nick, I think you’d better come here and listen to this.”

  “If it’s Dee Dee, I don’t want to know.” Nick limped to the gulag. “She’s annoying enough in person.”

  “No,” Lou said slowly. “It wasn’t Dee Dee. It was Dante.” Her voice was odd.

  “What?” he asked Lou. “What did he say? Is Faith all right? Has he been putting some moves on her?”

  Instead of answering, Lou pressed the replay button and Dante’s voice came on. “Nick, tell Lou I have some good news and some bad news…”

  Chapter Six

  A pat on the back is only a few centimeters from a kick in the pants.

  Siena

  “Ah, Faith Murphy. Just the person I was looking for,” Leonardo Gori, the head of the Siena University Math Department, said.

  Faith was crossing the cloister after lunch. Lunch had been subdued, what with a murder and all. Luckily, it had also been delicious, so nobody had been overly-bothered by the lack of conversation.

  She looked up in awe at Professor Gori. He had a reputation as one of the most original thinkers in the field of econometrics. He was also the driving force behind the Siena Quantitative Methods Seminar, one of the most important math seminars in the world. It also didn’t hurt that he was incredibly good-looking, in a tweedy sort of way.

  She was here as an interloper and she’d been doing her best to keep her head down. Of course finding a dead body hadn’t helped. For the thousandth time she found herself annoyed at Kane for getting himself whacked.

  So what did Professor Gori want with her? Be cool, be suave, she told herself. “Ah—”

  “Terrible business, this.” He rocked back slightly on his chic loafers. “We’re so sorry at the loss of Professor Kane.”

  “Ah—”

  “Indeed,” he said. “A great loss to mathematics. However, I’m afraid this will mean some reorganization of the conference as well. I was wondering whether I could have a word or two with you in private.” Professor Gori smiled gently at her. “If you have the time, of course.”

  “Of course,” Faith murmured. Not have time for Leonardo Gori? Unless, of course, he was going to tell her she wasn’t welcome any more, now that she wasn’t riding on Roland Kane’s coattails.

  He led them into a large room directly opposite the entrance. It was elaborately frescoed and furnished with museum-quality antiques. Two very attractive secretaries were doing what looked like nothing at all. But they were doing it very elegantly.

  Faith followed Professor Gori into an inner study, as heartbreakingly beautiful as the outer study, only less elaborate. A long antique refectory table with two sleek computers, an incredible desk with a throne-like chair with iron studs bracketing the leather padding behind it, another chair and a sideboard with crystal decanters.

  “Please, do sit down,” Professor Gori said, and Faith realized it was the second time he’d said it while she’d gone into a fugue state over his furniture.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, sitting down gingerly on an antique chair that probably cost more than she would ever earn in her lifetime. It was sturdier than it looked, though, and she relaxed slightly.

  He sat down behind that amazing antique desk, where generations of monks had prayed or eaten or done whatever it was monks did.

  “Well,” he said, and stopped.

  Faith tried to look serious and smart and relaxed while bracing herself. Professor Gori was probably going to give her one of Roland Kane’s patented stay-out-of-trouble, don’t-bother-your-betters, stay-quiet-and-pretend-you’re-not-there lectures.

  “I’m delighted at this opportunity to talk to you, Doctor Murphy.” He put his clasped hands on the table and smiled.

  Faith started. Her doctorate was brand new and she still wasn’t used to the title. Not that anyone at Southbury called her Doctor anyway. She just didn’t look the part.

  “Just Faith, please, Professor,” she said.

  “Then you must call me Leonardo, Faith,” he replied and smiled.

  Faith blinked, completely floor
ed. Calling Professor Gori Leonardo was like…was like calling the Pope Frankie. Not in this lifetime. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

  “Of course you must.” He smiled again and Faith started paying attention.

  He’d just been Professor Gori before. An important man in his field and head of one of the most prestigious math departments on earth. She had hardly considered him a human being—he was just another one of those remote and faceless male authority figures her life was so full of. It felt like she’d spent her entire lifetime navigating the shoals of male authority, none of the men having any particular reason to treat her well.

  Except…oh God. Except Nick. This past winter with Nick had shown her an entirely different way of being male. That he was fully a man wasn’t even an issue. If anyone ever invented a pheronometer, Nick would be off the charts. He exuded maleness, starting from a physique that was in the .01% percentile. Over-the-top masculinity.

  Nick had always treated her well. Like a kid sister, it was true, but he hadn’t said a mean word to her in the hundreds of hours they’d hung out.

  Could Professor Gori be like that?

  Like everyone else in this country, seemingly, he was good-looking. Not lavishly good-looking like the Rossis, true, but handsome in a rather austere manner.

  Though the day was already heating up, he was in a tan polished cotton suit with a cream cotton shirt, and blue-and-yellow silk tie. He looked as if his sweat glands had been surgically removed.

  But aside from his looks, there was a gentleness to his face, a kindness in his eyes, and she felt herself relaxing. Instinctively, she knew she didn’t have to weigh every word and brace herself against nasty comments. He was as far from Roland Kane as it was possible to be and still be of the same species.

  “I’m delighted you’ve finally decided to accept our invitation, Faith. We were very disappointed you couldn’t come last year. I was very much looking forward to discussing the ideas on hysteresis you published in Mathematica. Your report on system dynamics is just fascinating. And I found your thesis on tipping behavior thoroughly compelling. As a matter of fact, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you. Would you be willing to moderate our panel on tipping behavior? It’s a topic of great interest nowadays and I feel you’d be best positioned to cover all angles. We’d want to cover economics and public health policy, and I know you’ve done some work on that.”

  He stopped and smiled at her, his head tilted inquisitively.

  Faith blinked and barely stopped herself from looking around to see who he was talking to. Normally quick, it took her a moment to process what he’d said because it sounded so outlandish.

  Would she be willing to moderate a panel of world-famous experts on one of the hottest topics around? Talk about cutting-edge research with some of the finest minds on Earth?

  Well…yes, as a matter of fact. She’d also be willing to accept a winning lottery ticket, marry Bradley Cooper and accept the Nobel Peace Prize.

  “Faith?” Professor Gori—Leonardo—was looking at her quizzically. “Would you have a problem with that? Because if you do, if you’d rather moderate another panel, pseudo-quantitation, say, that’s fine, too. I just thought that maybe you’d—”

  Faith was jolted out of her stupor. “No!” She lowered her voice. “Ah, no. No, that’s not it at all. I’d be…delighted to moderate the tipping panel. But…” She shook her head, to see if she could loosen a few neurons.

  She thought she’d heard him say… “What was that about not accepting your invitation last year? I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said.

  This time last year she’d just published her paper for Mathematica, had been working madly on her PhD while doing the usual graduate student scut work—teaching no-brainer summer remedial classes for jocks—and moving to Southbury.

  Her contract had started on July 1st. She was absolutely positively certain that no invitation to Siena, Italy, had been forthcoming.

  Leonardo frowned. “Well, as I said, we were really sorry you couldn’t accept our invitation last year.”

  “Professor Gori…Leonardo. I didn’t receive an invitation last year. Actually, I didn’t receive an invitation this year either. I’m only here because Tim Gresham fell ill at the last minute. And Professor Kane made it quite clear he wasn’t particularly happy I was along.”

  “I…see.” He sat back and steepled his fingers, looking très European intellectual. “Well, my dear, we most certainly did issue you an invitation to participate in the Quantitative Methods Seminar last year and this year. Last year we sent the invitation care of Professor Kane, since we’d heard you would technically be under contract with Southbury by the time the conference started.

  “Professor Kane said that you were too busy with the move to Southbury last year. And he said he couldn’t spare you this year. We were very disappointed and made this known to Professor Kane. Forcefully. And I, personally, was delighted when I saw last night that you were able to come after all.”

  Faith was silent. Her heart swelled with resentment and anger that she hadn’t been the one to slip a knife into Kane’s black heart. Being invited to participate in the Quantitative Methods Seminar was a signal honor in her field. Kane knew that. Kane had kept her from it last year and had done his very best to make sure she couldn’t come this year.

  When she spoke, her voice was thick with repressed anger. “I was told about the trip here less than four hours before departure.”

  “I see,” Leonardo said again. He gave a little sigh, an Italian masterpiece of subtle expressiveness. Yes, Professor Kane was a shit, that sigh said, but he was also a colleague and important in our field and I can’t come right out and say what I think of him. “I’m afraid that Roland Kane, for all his brilliance as a mathematician, was a very difficult character.”

  “Yes,” Faith said shortly, her jaw muscles bunching.

  Another elegant little sigh and a gentle straightening of the razor-sharp crease of his trousers. “Well,” he said, looking down at his perfectly buffed and filed fingernails. “Sadly, Professor Kane’s…temperament is no longer a problem. And I can assure you we are delighted to have you. Tell me, Faith,” he leaned forward. “Did you read Dunhatton’s paper on system dynamics?”

  “Sure.” Faith leaned forward, too. “I think it will have a number of interesting applications. For example, it would be fun to come up with a sort of management flight simulator—a little self-contained world, where we could use a company’s input to define the parameters. The executive staff could try out decisions and see what the short-term and long-term fallout would be.”

  “Excellent.” He beamed. “This year is going to be exceptionally interesting. We have Yamaki from Nogura and Jean-Pierre Daumier from the Pasteur Institute. You’ll enjoy what he’s done on the epidemiology of avian flu. It’s going to be an interesting week.” He picked up a dog-eared copy of the program. “Let’s see, tomorrow we’re going to have registration from eight to nine, though the desk will be open all morning. Workshops from 9 to noon. We’ll have an early lunch here and then we’re starting again at 2.”

  “Great.” Faith repressed a smile at the idea of a two-hour lunch on the first day of an important conference. In the States it would be half an hour for sandwiches.

  “I’d like the work to be over by 5 p.m. because most of the participants will want to get down to Siena to see the trial heat of the Palio.” He smiled at her blank look. “That’s our local horse race. It’s—” He pursed his lips. “—it’s a deeply felt event in Siena. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  Faith smiled politely. A horse race. Gah. “I’m sure I will,” she said, womanfully refraining from rolling her eyes.

  “And coming back to our business, I suggest you co-chair Critical Points in Hysteresis with Murauer in Room Four, from 3:00 p.m. to 4:15 p.m., and moderate the Tipping Behavior Panel from 4:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m.. We’ll see about the other days as we go along. Is that all right with you?”

  Though
ts of Roland Kane’s perfidy fled from her head and for a second Faith forgot how much she hated him.

  It was happening. It was finally happening. Eighteen long, miserable years in Sophie, Indiana and eight long, hard, empty years putting herself through school and graduate school, and then this last year at Southbury under Kane which had been hell on earth.

  Who cared? It was over. She was in this gorgeous country on a beautiful summer day and this wonderful Italian man had just handed her the keys to the kingdom.

  Is that all right with you? Leonardo’s words echoed in her head.

  She smiled and saw him blink. So, okay, maybe she didn’t smile all that much. “That’s just fine with me, Leonardo,” she said softly. “Just fine.”

  “Well, good.” He rose and took her hand. “After work, we’re organizing minibuses to take the participants down to Siena in the evenings to watch the trial races of the Palio, and I found seats for the participants for the big day itself.” He beamed with pleasure.

  Faith tried to think of something she cared less about than horse racing, but came up blank. Still, if Leonardo wanted her to watch a bunch of horses run around a track, fine. She’d have happily gone along if he wanted to show her the Cow Patty Museum. She’d even make ooh-ing sounds if he wanted.

  “Well.” Faith was so spaced out she simply sat there, looking up at him, neck craned. Then she hastily scrambled to her feet. “I think Richard Allen’s just arrived. You might want to talk with him about co-ordination. We’re very happy to have you with us, Faith.”

  He escorted her to the door and she walked out, dazed, into the dazzling sunshine. Into her newly dazzling life.

  She’d need to read Dunhatton, Yamaki and Daumier off the net, and she’d need to put her notes on tipping behavior in order. She’d need to interface with the other members of the panel on hysteresis…

  God, it was all so exciting.

  This immense male cloud she labored under had been…lifted. She’d spent the first eighteen years of her life under a mean drunk—her father—another long year under another mean drunk, Roland Kane. In between had been gray years of slog.