by Zetta Brown
blkcat: ;-D
I glance at my desk clock.
blkcat: must go 2 class now
RzrBrn: aw that SUX!!!
lickitty: why don’t u ditch?
triXXX: yeah. tell the prof to go fuck him/herself
blkcat: sorry can’t. besides, this prof is really pretty cool :-)
I laugh as I log off and put the computer to sleep. A sigh escapes me when I realize I’ve wasted another break getting my Lucy fix instead of creating my midterm exam.
Oh well. If I can’t see Jared, it’ll give me something to do this weekend.
I grab my purse and briefcase and exit the office. Making my way through the throng, I catch glimpse of a brightly colored flyer on top of a stack of notebooks before realizing it’s not a flyer, but the cover of the latest issue of The Life of Lucrezia. I’m surprised that, through all the bustle in the hall, I’m able to single it out. Perhaps I’ve become sensitized. I smile to myself. At least there’s one other person in our cloistered community who’s not adverse to a little creative smut.
I’m just being mean. The students on our campus are no different than elsewhere, but the “Hyde Affair” has stirred up dormant issues about sex and academia, and the lines of demarcation are rising up and creating factions on campus. I laugh out loud at the thought of The Life of Lucrezia becoming a sort of banner for sexual freedom.
Let the revolution begin.
* * * *
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I last chatted in the LoL chatroom and I’ve found a feature article in a popular e-zine called Redd Ink, which focuses on things on the verge of making a splash, for better or worse.
Reporter Creighton Day has written a piece about the growing appeal of what he calls “dark animation,” or animation dwelling on sinister and adult issues. Day lists several popular action, goth, and manga titles, but his article is really about “a pulp fiction throwback in modern graphic novel style mixing exquisite and technically detailed drawing with sexually charged writing.”
I devour the rest of Day’s article:
Under the title of The Life of Lucrezia , “Ali,” as the mastermind of the serial goes by, has created an anachronistic world full of explicit sex and mob-style violence that would make Dick Tracy spew. But not intrepid police detective Jack Dover, one of the newest faces to enter the town of Sugarville, “where the sweetness can rot you to the core” as the cynical Dover puts it. He’s been transferred to the town from the capital, under protest, for reasons unknown to us and already he’s stumbled on a potential scandal to shake all the sugar out of Sugarville.
It took some doing, but I was able to catch up with Ali while he was on vacation and staying at the swank Hotel Monaco in Denver. I offered to meet him there or at The Brown Palace. Not that I was staying there, mind you, but mostly to show I wasn’t some hack. He declined to interview in person and, considering how I had to get past his staff, I asked if it had anything to do with the subject matter. Did he have to keep his identity secret?
“Lucrezia is the star, not me,” he said.
So, we chatted over the phone for nearly an hour.
The interview shows “Ali” to be a funny but modest man (so much for RazorBrn’s theory to the contrary), and that he has a girlfriend.
“She didn’t care for the story at first, but I think she’s coming around,” Ali said. I asked if any of the heart-stopping sex scenes were literally drawn from personal experience and what his girlfriend thought. But he just laughed and said, “Let’s just say we are both happy mixing art with life.” Of course Ali wouldn’t divulge the name of his muse, only that she is “the ink in my well and my inspiration.”
I ask if she’s the model for Lucrezia.
“No,” Ali confesses. “She is a character in her own right.”
I smile. How sweet. Lucky bitch. Must be nice to be a muse.
It makes me feel better that I’m not the only female who was slow to warm up to the story, and for similar reasons. When I first started lurking in the various LoL chatrooms, there was a collection of people—mostly women, or at least people claiming to be women—who were disappointed that the storyline seemed a bit simplistic and contrived. Sure, the sex was top quality, but Lucy and the whole Sugarville gang deserved more.
Apparently Ali took these comments to heart and the story has become more complex and intriguing. In the January issue, it was announced that Lucy will change to a biweekly.
I logoff the Internet and bring up my notes for the upcoming debate next week. I think I have more than enough ammo to prove my point, but right now, I’m struggling with my own convictions.
How can I argue for sexual freedom and openness when I cringe at the thought of my own family seeing me as a sexually active woman? Freedom, openness, and a right to privacy. Is it really possible?
“Knock, knock. How you doin’, teach?”
I look up and see Neil’s head peeking around my door.
“I just thought you might be nervous about tonight, that’s all.”
“Me? Nervous?” I pick up a pen and pretend to write a list. “Neil, I talk in front of people every day. Many of them are hostile or have a grudge against me.”
He scoops his work into his strong right hand and places the wire basket back on the counter. “Yes, but you’re not talking about their private love life.”
“Neil, tonight’s debate isn’t about anyone’s love life. It’s about using your freedom of choice.”
His laugh makes me raise my head.
“You don’t have to convince me, teach. I’m on your side.” He steps closer to my desk. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to cheer you on.”
“I didn’t doubt it for a second.” I smile. “Now get to work. We got one hundred freshmen who need their exam copied.”
He snaps straight to attention, salutes, and exits the office.
* * * *
Jared and I wait at the stoplight to cross the street and we see about thirty people heading to the student union.
“It’s gonna be packed.” He sings, trying to get a rise out of me and smiles.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
He puts on a face of mock innocence. “How many men get the chance to see the woman they love debate a person’s right to have sex to a crowd of strangers? Are you kidding? I am loving this.” He tugs me into his arms for a kiss and gives me a squeeze about my waist.
“Hello, teach!”
My eyes pop open and I step away so fast Jared loses his balance. I look past him and see Neil approaching. He’s dressed like a baby yuppie in Dockers, shirt, and dark blazer. He fills out his clothes well and his honey-colored hair is brushed to a shine. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a date with him.
“Jared, I’d like you to meet Neil Hollister.”
Before he turns to face Neil I catch the gleam in Jared’s eyes and it makes me nervous.
“Neil!” Jared reaches out a hand. Neil takes it and I see his cheeks flinch as Jared squeezes. “Nice to meet you at last. Eva speaks of you so often, I’m jealous. I hope you’re keeping her out of trouble. There’s only room for one scandal at Bellingham.”
I grit my teeth and Neil looks at me with a mixture of surprise and something else. Satisfaction? I sense he is doing a quick appraisal of Jared and assessing my taste in men. And what’s this nonsense a
bout my going on as if I talk about Neil constantly when I’ve only mentioned him on occasion?
“So, Neil,” he continues. “You’re here to give your ol’ prof some moral support?”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Cavell is my favorite.” He looks at me. “I got her back.”
I turn away. I knew Neil was fond of me, but his favorite? The kid is a Political Science major and aiming for pre-law. Looking up, I see the light is now green and cross the street. I glance over my shoulder and see the two men are talking, and taking their time. I give a whistle. They look up and Jared waves me on.
“We’ll catch up!”
I smile weakly and walk away. My man and my infatuated “puppy” are making friends.
My life is now complete.
* * * *
It doesn’t take long for the debate to get heated. When Professor Alicia Beecham mentions how the ancient Greeks had a system of mentoring that sexually “abused” young men, I have to call in a point of order.
“It seems that my colleague on the other side of the aisle is confusing the issue with information I’m not sure she understands.”
There are a few audible gasps and wide-eyed stares from both sides of the stage and the audience, but I don’t care. The woman is talking bullshit.
“How am I misinformed, Dr. Cavell?”
“We can sit here today, thousands of years later, with our 21 st century morals and debate whether or not the ancient Greeks sexually ‘abused’ their young, but it doesn’t negate the fact that they used sex as an effective form of teaching.”
“Are you saying that all students should have sex with their professors?” Beecham frowns.
“I find the taste of other people’s words in my mouth quite bitter, professor.”
More “oohs” and “ahhs” from the audience, but I go on.
“If a faculty member and student choose to have a relationship, it’s not my business.”
“Does the same go for mentoring, Dr. Cavell?”
This question is asked by Professor G. E. D. Smith, a man so self-righteous he makes Mother Teresa look like a drunken whore. But the scary thing is that he’s the head of department for Politics—and another man associated with Neil.
I turn and look at my colleague, Professor Harold Seigel, in disbelief and he looks at me with the same, as does Dr. Kent Melbourne, the third faculty member on our side of the panel.
Unless I’m mistaken, Professor Smith has made a thinly veiled insinuation that my relationship with Terrence Hyde was something far more intimate.
“Perhaps I am not following your argument, Dr. Cavell,” he continues. “Did the ancient Greeks have more morals than we do today? Were their methods of teaching and mentoring more appropriate?”
“Professor, I am not going to try and compare our modern methods to theirs. What I will say is that, as consenting adults, we don’t need every aspect of our lives given a stamp of approval by those who feel morally superior.”
The professor and I proceed to have a mini showdown as we glare at each other from across the stage until the moderator, Dr. Lawley Gillis, steps in.
“Thank you, everyone, for your comments. Let’s open the floor for questions.”
After a few questions about college regulations and consent, the topic swings into that of mentoring and student assistants. I’m asked if student assistants are regarded in a differential way.
“No, they’re not. At least they shouldn’t be.”
Then, to my horror, Jared stands up.
“But you’re biased, aren’t you, Dr. Cavell? Don’t you have a student assistant? What is your relationship with him—or her?”
My eyes bug out for a moment, and if they could, they’d shoot lasers and disintegrate him on the spot. I try to keep my smile serene, but I get the feeling I look like a demented cat about to strike. Neil takes this opportunity to stand and it’s all I can do to keep from banging my head on the table.
“I’m Dr. Cavell’s assistant and I am more than pleased to work under her. Not once has she complained about my service.”
Of course this gets laughs and Neil takes a bow, but I think I’m the only one who notices Professor G. E. D. Smith looking first at Neil and then at me. His churlish expression turns even more sour, if that’s possible.
And so it begins. People start voicing their feelings about favoritism between professors and their assistants, and the fact that the girl Terry Hyde got pregnant was his assistant is raised by a reporter from the student paper.
It's not like we can comment, but I remain quiet for the rest of the discussion, knowing that I succeeded in ruffling the feathers of a few esteemed senior members of faculty and don’t feel like digging myself in deeper.
Yet, in the end, everything comes to an amicable conclusion. I’m not saying we solved anything, but we succeed in creating a very lively dialogue amongst the campus population.
We get back to Jared’s place and I am dragging my ass. Jared, on the other hand, has barely stopped laughing.
“Aw, babydoll. You were perfect.”
I spin around and point a finger at him. “You and Neil did not help.” Despite my anger, he laughs harder.
“I think there’s something to be said for stricter rules between faculty and students,” he says as we enter the house. “I got a vested interest in this. That assistant, Neil, is a nice-looking fellow.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “And he has a massive crush on you.”
CHAPTER sixteen
Truth and consequences
It’s now March. Three weeks since the article in Redd Ink and the first of the biweekly issues of LoL is out. In issue #13, ironically enough, Lucrezia Spence’s double life is about to be exposed by Jack Dover. I’ve been waiting for my lunch break, so I can lock myself in my office and read it. Now, a visibly scared Lucrezia makes a call to her benefactor:
“Unless Mark Starr can prevent his
wife Astrid from going to the cops,
Charity Escorts is through!”
The remaining panels are bordered by a phone cord, framing the action as Lucrezia speaks to a person sitting on a high-backed chair obscured by shadows.
“I can’t get Chief Lawson to help,”
Lucrezia continues. “His ass is in
too deep.”
“I wish you’d approached me
sooner, Lucrezia,” the mystery
person replies. “Now, I may have
to use tactics that I’d rather not.”
“I’m sorry . . .”
Whomever Lucy is speaking to must have some awesome power, because the drawing of Lucrezia captures her fear so well it’s hard for me not to feel sorry for the silly woman.
“When you asked me to help smooth the way for your expansion of Charity Escorts, you said everything was under control. What happened?”
“Things took longer than was
estimated.”
“So it’s my fault?”
“No! No, no, I don’t mean it like that.”
“Then what do you mean, Lucy?”
The frames get lighter, revealing more detail. The mystery man sits in what could be described as a study with tall, mullioned windows, Empire furniture, and bookshelves full of leather-bound volumes.
“Just help me . . . please?”
“I’ll help you, Luc
rezia, but I warn you. Be careful. I would hate for anything to happen to the business
. . . Or to you.”
The phone cord framing the panel has turned into a rope with a noose at the end. I smile. Ali’s sense of humor shines again.
“I have always tried to never let you down.”
Lucrezia looks paler with each passing frame, if that’s possible. Her angelic face is dripping with sweat.
“And I am grateful. Lucrezia, I go into every endeavor with both eyes open. Remember that.”
The darkness now falls in a solid diagonal across the frame, exposing the mystery person as having nice shapely legs and wearing a tight, dark-blue dress. A very revealing neckline exposes a chest that threatens to break free of its confinement and the black silhouette of a cat’s face on the right breast. I grin from ear-to-ear. The mastermind behind all this is another woman! The last frame shows Lucrezia visibly relieved and slumping down in a chair.
“I will remember. Thank you, Messalina.”
I’ll be damned.
I drop the book onto my desk, not caring that my salad is beneath it. Calmly, I pick up the phone. “Hello, Trey. Is Jared around?” When Trey replies, I swear he sounds like I caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
“Oh! Hello, Cookie. Let me see if I can find him.” Trey puts me on hold but he’s barely gone before he’s back.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but he’s on a conference call. I don’t know how long he’ll be.”