by Tim Downs
She stopped at the front door and checked herself one last time. She tugged up on her panty hose and pulled down on her hemline. She brushed back the hair from her face and whispered to herself, “Well—here goes nothing.”
“Nicholas—I’m delighted you could make it.”
Nick turned and found Noah Ellison beaming up at him. The old man was dressed in a simple black blazer with a silver tie. “What do you do at these things?” Nick asked.
“You don’t do anything, Nicholas—you just socialize.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“You just need a little practice, that’s all. Here—I have just the thing.” Noah turned and motioned to his wife across the room. She politely excused herself from a conversation and approached. She was dressed in a glittering silver dress with a single strand of white pearls around her slender neck. Her hair was silver-white, and her smile was just as warm and endearing as her husband’s. “Sweetheart, you remember Nicholas, don’t you?”
She extended her fragile hand to him, and Nick held it like a wounded dove. “Of course I remember. How are you, Nicholas?”
“Fine, Mrs. Ellison. Thanks.”
“Sweetheart, we have a bit of a problem. It seems Nicholas has forgotten how to socialize. I was hoping he could practice on you.”
“I’d be delighted. Why don’t you go and greet our other guests, dear? Leave Nicholas to me.”
As Noah ambled off, Mrs. Ellison leaned closer to Nick and said, “Tell me, Nicholas, do you despise these things as much as I do?”
Nick blinked. “It’s your party.”
“I know. They always sound so lovely when I plan them. The truth is, I don’t really care for socializing either—I prefer quiet conversation between intimate friends. I mean, how many times can you ask, ‘And what is it you do?’ All of these people are academics—I’m always afraid they might tell me.”
Nick smiled. This was a truly gracious woman.
“You’re his favorite, you know.”
“What?”
“Of all the faculty in the entomology department—of all the young men my husband has ever mentored—you are his definite favorite.”
“I’ve definitely caused him the most trouble,” Nick said.
“The beloved prodigal,” she said. “The child that causes you the most pain is often closest to your heart.”
“Your husband is the best,” Nick said. “He almost makes me wish I were human.”
She smiled. “You’re more human than you think, Nicholas—and I think you socialize quite nicely. You don’t require my services, so if you don’t mind I’ll tend to my other guests.” She patted his arm and moved on.
“Dr. Polchak! Do my eyes deceive me? Is it really you?”
Nick turned. It was Sherm Pettigrew, dressed in a white dinner jacket and a black bow tie.
Pettigrew looked down at Nick’s khakis and loafers and the natty brown blazer that he wore over an old polo shirt. “Looking a little casual, aren’t we, Polchak?”
Nick held out his car keys. “Pull it around, will you? And watch the paint.”
“I couldn’t help noticing you’re alone.”
Nick looked around. “So are you.”
“Not for long. I find these little interdepartmental soirees excellent opportunities to meet women with similar intellectual abilities.”
“Have you tried the mental hospital? They dress in white too.”
“Do I detect a note of bitterness? At the risk of rubbing salt in a wound, what happened to the lovely companion you promised to bring?”
“She’s coming.”
“Yes, I’m sure she is.”
“Would you excuse me?” Nick said. “I have no place to go, but I can’t stand talking to you anymore.” He turned and looked for Noah again. He spotted him by the piano.
The old man looked up as he approached. “Nicholas—how’s the socializing going?”
“I’m not sure,” Nick said. “I talked to your wife and wanted to kiss her; then I talked to Sherm Pettigrew and wanted to punch him in the face.”
“Excellent,” he said. “You’re batting .500 in your rookie year.”
“Noah, where’s that mycologist from Crop Sciences? Is he here yet?”
“Dr. Lumpkin? Why, yes, I believe he is—he’s right over there.”
Noah pointed to a little homunculus of a man dressed in a black leather jacket and a white open-collared shirt. From the side his head looked almost square; he was bald on top, except for a comb-over so sparse that it looked like a dozen piano wires stretched across his scalp. He had a sizable paunch that stuck out of his jacket like the gullet of a bullfrog, and a couple of chins to match.
Nick tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Are you Dr. Lumpkin?”
“And you are?”
“I’m Nick Polchak—Department of Entomology. Noah Ellison tells me you’re a fungus specialist.”
Lumpkin glanced around the room. “Pretty slim pickings if you ask me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I did a wine and cheese gig over at the College of Design last week; they have some real lookers there. There was a Sociology function at the end of the spring term; man, you talk about some red-hot mamas.”
“Sorry, it’s kind of noisy in here—I could have sworn you said ‘red-hot mamas.’”
“Yeah, the social sciences always attract the babes. The hard sciences are kind of hit-or-miss in my book. I did a progressive dinner with Mechanical Engineering and met some real honeys there, but that mixer at Astronomy—trust me, there were no celestial bodies that evening.”
“Um—can we talk about fungus?”
“I thought I might find a few targets of opportunity here, but no blips on the ol’ radar screen so far. Where are all the goddesses? What does a good-looking guy like me have to do to find a—” He suddenly stopped and stared past Nick. “Well, hello there.”
Nick turned and looked. Alena was standing in the doorway, dressed in an off-the-shoulder black evening dress that fit like a shadow at noon. Her hair looked different—shorter maybe, or trimmed at the ends, and it was no longer parted in the middle; now it was parted on the side and hung mysteriously across one of her eyes. She was wearing makeup—Nick had never seen her wear makeup before—and her green eyes were highlighted with a dark eyeliner that made them pop like a pair of glistening emeralds.
“Target acquired,” Lumpkin said. “Locked and loaded.”
Alena walked across the room to Nick and stood there, smiling at him.
Nick slowly looked her over from head to toe. “Where’s your dog?”
She frowned. “Is that all you have to say to me?”
“Sorry. I’m a little . . . stunned.”
Her frown slowly morphed into a smile. “‘Stunned’ is good. I’ll take ‘stunned.’ Anything else?”
“Wow.”
Now she beamed. “Even better. It’s amazing what a girl will do for one little word—the right word, that is.”
“Dr. Polchak, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Oh—Alena Savard, this is Dr. Lumpkin. He’s a fungus specialist from the Department of Crop Sciences.”
“Thrilling,” Alena said, continuing to smile at Nick.
“I was just about to ask Dr. Lumpkin for his opinion about an unusual type of fungus.”
“Come on, Dr. Polchak, this is no time to be talking shop. I’m sure this lovely young thing couldn’t be less interested in fungus.”
Nick looked at Alena and raised both eyebrows in a pleading expression.
Alena reluctantly took the hint. “Oh yeah, fungus—I get chills just thinking about it. Are we talking about mushrooms or what?”
“I’m talking about this,” Nick said, taking a plastic specimen bottle from his blazer and handing it to Lumpkin.
“What’s this?” Lumpkin asked.
“It’s a tobacco hornworm—Manduca sexta. Take a look at the growth coming out of its he
ad near the first abdominal segment.”
Lumpkin hesitated, then took a pair of glasses from his leather jacket and slipped them on. “I have eyes like a hawk,” he assured Alena.
“These are only to avoid eyestrain.” He studied the specimen. “Man—that’s weird.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Sure. It’s cordyceps.”
“What?”
“Cordyceps—it’s a parasitic fungus found primarily in Asia.” He looked at Alena to see if she was impressed.
“Oh, keep going,” Alena said. “I’ve got goose bumps all over.”
“There are more than four hundred species of cordyceps, and each one preys on a single species of insect. It’s very cool, really. The spores of the fungus attach themselves to the insect’s body, then bore their way in and begin to grow. Little fungal filaments called mycelia start taking over, absorbing all the soft tissues but avoiding all the vital organs so the insect continues to live.”
“Sounds like Alien,” Alena said.
“Exactly,” Lumpkin said. “You know, you’re one smart cookie. Are you on the faculty here? You should be. What’s your specialty, besides being gorgeous?”
“Then what happens?” Nick said.
“What? Oh—then, when the fungus is ready to put out new spores, the mycelia start growing into the insect’s brain. They produce chemicals that begin to alter the insect’s behavior.”
“In what way?”
“The insect begins to climb. It climbs to the top of the tallest plant it can find and attaches itself—then it dies, because by that time the fungus has devoured the insect’s brain. That little growth sticking out of the caterpillar’s head—that’s called a stroma. It’s sort of like a fruit tree. It grows an inch or so and then it starts putting out spores—some of the spores fall to the ground; most of them drift away in the wind. Pretty cool, isn’t it? The fungus takes over and turns the insect into a zombie. By forcing the insect to climb, the fungus makes sure its spores will get maximum distribution.”
Alena began to look annoyed. “Are we going to talk about fungus all night?”
“Of course not, beautiful—let’s talk about me.”
“Why is it weird?” Nick asked.
“What?”
“When you first saw the specimen, you said, ‘Man, that’s weird.’ What did you mean?”
“Well, it’s cordyceps—what’s it doing on a tobacco hornworm? Most species of cordyceps are found in Asia: China, Thailand, Japan, Korea—not the sort of places you find tobacco hornworms, I imagine. It’s a very unlikely combination.”
“I’d love a drink,” Alena said.
“So would I. Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Could the combination occur naturally?” Nick asked.
“It’s possible, of course, but what are the odds? Where did you find this specimen?”
“In a tomato field in Sampson County.”
“That’s highly improbable.”
“Why?”
“Most cordyceps species are found in tropical rain forests—they thrive in heat and humidity. They could survive a North Carolina summer, but not our winters.”
Alena said, “I had toenail fungus once, and I’ve never been to a rain forest—how do you suppose that happened?”
“Then the cordyceps must have been artificially introduced,” Nick said.
“That would be my bet. Somebody’s idea of a prank, maybe—like the snake-woman at the state fair.”
“I’d love to see the state fair,” Alena said. “I’d love to see that snake-woman. I wish I had a snake right now.”
“There’s something else,” Nick said. “The tobacco hornworms and the cordyceps were hidden in a shipment of marijuana that originated in Colombia.”
“Are you serious? An Asian fungus on a North American insect sent from South America? That’s just too weird. Any idea how it happened?”
“I do have a theory,” Nick said, “and I’d like to run it by you.”
Alena groaned. “If you boys can spare me, I think I’m going to mingle.”
An hour later the two men were still locked in conversation, and Alena stood glaring at them from across the room. Her arches were killing her from the stupid shoes, and her groin muscles were exhausted from squeezing her thighs together to keep the dress from riding up. What’s the big idea, asking me to a cocktail party and then ignoring me all evening? Am I really that boring? What does it take to get through to this guy? Maybe if I was covered in fungus. Or maggots maybe—there you go. What was I thinking, trying to get Nick’s attention by dressing up? What I really need to do is decompose.
“Feeling a little left out?”
Alena turned. A baby-faced man in a white dinner jacket was grinning at her. “Beat it,” she said. “My dog can raise his leg higher than you.”
“Now, don’t be like that. Here, I brought you this—I thought you might be thirsty.” He held out a glass of punch.
Alena took it and tossed it back in one gulp, then handed back the empty glass. “What’s his problem, anyway?”
“Who, Dr. Polchak? How much time do you have?”
“I’m supposed to be his date, and all he wants to do is spend the evening talking about fungus. Fungus—am I missing something?”
“It’s unforgivable behavior,” Pettigrew said. “And I’d say he’s the one who’s missing something. I don’t believe we’ve met—I’m Dr. Sherman Pettigrew.”
“I’ve had it with these things,” she grumbled. Alena twisted off her heels and began to massage her aching arches.
“Those are lovely shoes,” Pettigrew said.
“You like them?” She shoved them against his chest. “They’re yours. Strap them on tight, Sherm—it’s like walking on Jell-O.”
“It’s Sherman.”
She looked at his face. “Funny, you look like a ‘Sherm’ to me. What’s with the outfit? Are you a waiter?”
Pettigrew chuckled. “This is a dinner jacket—a white dinner jacket is an old Southern tradition.”
“So is slavery. Who designs shoes, anyway?”
“You ask the most delightful questions.”
She looked across the room at Nick. “They’re supposed to make your legs look great. I don’t think he’s looked at my legs once all evening.”
“Dr. Polchak? I’m afraid you’ll find he has a very narrow field of vision.”
“You know him?”
“We’re colleagues in the entomology department.”
“You’re a bug man too?”
Pettigrew smiled. “That unfortunate moniker has clung to Dr. Polchak due to his rather bizarre specialty. I, on the other hand, specialize in Applied Insect Ecology and Pest Control. It’s a fascinating field of study, really—”
“You’re an exterminator?”
He laughed out loud. “You really are delightful.”
Alena glared at Nick. “If he thinks I’m just going to stand around here all evening while he chats with Fungus Boy, he’s mistaken.”
“He’s taking you for granted,” Pettigrew said.
“What?”
“A woman like you deserves better than that. I’m afraid you’ll find it very difficult to gain Dr. Polchak’s attention. His whole world, it seems, is limited to a few species of insects. He even thinks of himself as an insect—can you imagine? I, on the other hand, would be more than happy to give you my rapt attention.”
She squinted at him. “Do you always talk like that?”
“A beautiful woman brings out the poet in me.”
“Does it get you anywhere?”
“That depends on the woman. It’s a bit loud in here—perhaps we could go somewhere for a quiet drink.”
“You want me to leave with you?”
“Why not? I’m sure Dr. Polchak won’t even know you’re gone.”
She looked at Nick. “Oh, yes he will.”
She walked over and tapped Nick on the shoulder. “Hey.”
Nick turned.
<
br /> “I’m leaving.”
“What?”
“Just thought I’d let you know. That nice man over there asked me out for a drink.”
“What nice man?”
Alena pointed.
“Him? You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“Sorry I wasn’t more interesting than fungus—he thinks I am.”
“Wait a minute—”
But before Nick could say anything else, Alena turned and walked back to Dr. Pettigrew. She slipped her arm through his. “Ready?”
“Always.”
“Is he watching?”
“Who? Dr. Polchak?”
“Who else?”
Pettigrew checked. “He’s staring like a deer into headlights.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
When the front door closed behind them Pettigrew said, “I know a couple of lovely spots, but they get so crowded this time of the evening. My place isn’t far from here. Why don’t we—”
“No thanks. I’m heading home.”
“But—what about our drink?”
“Be serious, Sherm. I don’t want to go out with you—I just wanted Nick to think I did.”
“You used me.”
“And what did you have in mind? ‘My place isn’t far from here’—you sleazeball.”
“This is inexcusable,” Pettigrew said. “You led me on—I left a delightful party to be with you. I can’t go back in there now—how would it look?”
“Your reputation will survive—if you’ve got one.” Alena started to walk away and Pettigrew put a hand on her arm.
“I should have known,” he said. “A woman who would accept an invitation from Polchak would have no more dignity than he does.”
Alena turned and faced him. “You know, you’re the second person who’s told me I have no dignity.” She raised her right hand and snapped her fingers once. Seconds later a massive black dog was standing by her side.
Pettigrew took a step back. “What is that creature?”
“This is my pepper spray. Relax, Sherm, he won’t hurt you—he’s just a big puppy at heart. Would you like to see a trick I taught him?”
Pettigrew didn’t answer.
Alena snapped her fingers, then made a quick jabbing motion with her index finger. Phlegethon lunged forward and jammed his snout into Pettigrew’s groin.