Jimmy’s red face made his blonde mustache look white.
Kris pointed at Jimmy. “Look! The little monkey’s about to cry!”
Jimmy took another cigarette from the pack and lit it. He took two deep drags to assure it remained lit. When Edward straightened to catch his breath, Jimmy grabbed his right hand.
“Have a cigarette.” Jimmy ground out the cigarette in Edward’s palm.
Edward yelled and yanked his hand away. Jimmy punched Edward’s nose and kicked his shin. Edward fell against the wall and Jimmy kept attacking.
Shouts filled the room. When Jimmy turned around to tell the women to shut up, Kris struck his face with a beer bottle.
Chapter Fifteen: Buddy System
Alex hurried into the classroom, a stack of midterm exams in his arms. At their desks, the students were hunched over their notes, trying to memorize last bits of information. Anxiety lined their faces.
“You can take an extra ten minutes on the test,” Alex said soothingly. The test was a dilly; he knew that some students could not pass with an extra ten hours.
He handed a stack of tests to the first person in each row. When he came to Jimmy’s row, he noted Jimmy’s black eye. When he came to Edward’s row, he noted Edward’s bandaged hand. When he came to Holly’s row, he noted her suddenly lowered head.
Alex told the students to pace themselves carefully, and to not labor over any section longer than twenty minutes. He wished them good luck then sat at his desk to mull over his outline for a new novel. Alex had started the outline after returning from Chicago. Sandy’s blood had revitalized Alex as rain revitalizes the desert. Ideas had bloomed in his mind, taking on lively narrative shapes and intense emotional colors; for a few hours, the ideas had sprouted at an exhilarating, even dizzying, pace. The abundance was galvanizing, and he worked quickly. In two days, he had finished half an outline.
But on the third day, Alex’s energy flagged and he struggled to finish even a paragraph.
Now Alex stared at the outline, wondering how to proceed. His protagonist was a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist’s husband, an inept hospital administer, is having an affair with a young nursing intern. The psychiatrist, possessed of nearly inhuman calculation, decides to murder him and make the death look like suicide. Six months before taking any action, the woman “confides” to a friend that her husband is acting strangely. He has even threatened to hit her. Meanwhile, the nursing intern tells the man that she is pregnant with his child. She threatens to expose their affair if he does not pay for an abortion and give her $100,000 within ninety days.
The psychiatrist begins slipping anti-psychotic drugs into the husband’s drinks. His behavior changes as she expected: violent mood swings, bellowing delusions of grandeur, memory loss, paranoia. One evening the wife comes home late from work. She finds blood spattered across the kitchen, and the blood leads to the bedroom. On the dresser, she finds a note torn into small pieces. She assembles the note as best she can and makes out the words “scheme” and “revenge.” The note is composed in block printing, so she cannot be sure who wrote it. Worse, she finds a bloody boot print that is larger than her husband’s.
At this point, Alex’s outline stopped.
Alex had tried to push the story forward for three weeks, but it would not budge. Now Alex sat at his desk, reading the outline, occasionally glancing up at his students, and cussing under his breath. After thirty minutes, the tests began trickling in. The first few were half-finished. The students tossed the tests on Alex’s desk and hurried out of the classroom. More tests followed, some unfinished, and others crammed with minute handwriting. The students looked exhausted. One joked that she would be too tired to attend class for a week.
Jimmy Stubbs submitted his test and stomped out. Alex glanced at the test: the first half, composed of multiple choice and short answer, was partially complete. The second half, an essay discussing the link between William Butler Yeats’s poetry and his beliefs regarding Irish nationalism, was a mess. The answer started out with bare coherence, then disintegrated into uninformed rambling. The handwriting grew sloppy and the tone desperate. At the bottom Jimmy scrawled, “I give up. Why don’t you pull the trigger now and put me out of my misery?”
Alex looked at his watch and announced that two minutes remained. Two students were still writing: Edward and Holly. Edward was calm. With a small smile, he slowly reviewed his answers, pencil poised in his bandaged hand. Holly, however, was frantic. Halfway through the test, she began nervously running her left hand through her hair as she wrote, and now her hair pointed haphazardly in all directions, as if she’d written her test in a malfunctioning wind tunnel.
“Time’s up,” Alex announced.
Edward gave Alex his test then stood by the doorway, waiting for Holly.
Holly put down her pen, folded her arms across her chest, and remained in her chair. She looked as immovable as an anchor.
Edward asked Holly if she wanted to get some coffee.
She stared straight ahead.
Edward left.
Finally Holly stood up. Her lips trembled, her chin wrinkled, and she cried.
In his office, Alex spent ten minutes calming Holly to the point that she could speak without weeping and blowing her red nose.
“I apologize, Professor Resartus.” She spoke softly, without theatrics. “I made a butt of myself, and I am sorry to bother you like this.”
“It’s all right.”
“I didn’t do too well on the test. I do not want any special favor, but…” She shrugged. “Maybe I do. I guess I just want to explain.”
Holly said that she had studied hard for the test, but something happened last night that upset her. The trouble started when her roommate and Jimmy Stubbs, both drunk, burst into her room. Soon a fight broke out between Jimmy and Edward. Kris ended the fight by striking Jimmy with a bottle. Holly threw everyone out of the room, but on the way out Edward had mistakenly grabbed several pages of notes.
Holly was telling the truth—except about Edward taking her notes. Her notes were where she had left them, on her desk.
“By then,” Holly exclaimed, “I was too angry to phone Edward for the notes and who knows, maybe it wouldn’t have helped anyway. I was too bagged to study more.”
Alex leaned back in his chair, took out a Dunhill. “I’m sorry about this whole mess, but what do you propose to do about it?”
Holly had hoped that Alex would not count the test, but she could see that she was wrong. He just sat there, smoking and stone-faced.
“If I do better on my other tests maybe it, maybe this one wouldn’t count quite as much.”
“Did you pass this test?”
“I doubt it.”
“I have an idea. I will grade your test with all the others. But I will discount it a bit if you do well on the upcoming term paper and on the final exam. If you do well on the remaining work, that will suggest that you could perhaps have done better on the midterm.”
Holly nodded bravely. Already she was making plans for Edward to ghostwrite her term paper.
“I’ll do my best.” Holly rose from her chair, then asked, “Did you hear about the double murder in Chicago this weekend?”
“No.”
“My mother told me about it when I called her the other day. She was shook up.” Holly laughed. “She didn’t want me to go on the field trip in the first place. Said Chicago was too dangerous. And then two murders. Can you imagine?”
“Your poor mother,” Alex smiled.
“The police think it was a love triangle. Somebody murdered a woman and her husband in their apartment. They were separated, and the police think it’s the woman’s boyfriend.”
“Sounds like a melodrama.”
“Or a soap opera.”
Edward was washing the dishes when he heard a knock on his door. He paused, listened again. Friends of the women upstairs sometimes mistakenly knocked on Edward’s door. But the knocking persisted.
“Who
is it?”
“Holly Dish.”
Edward gulped. It was unthinkable. After last night, he feared that she would never speak to him.
“Just a moment.” He ran his hands through his greasy hair, popped a mint into his mouth, then opened the door.
Holly stood in the doorway. She wore sweatpants, sweatshirt, and a generous smile. A six-pack of beer dangled from one hand. “It’s about time for a break from the books, don’t you think?”
Shrugging happily, Edward led her to the living room. His bowels rumbled with anxiety. Holly Dish in his apartment…with beer!
“What a, a, it’s a surprise to see you.” His voice seemed an octave higher than normal.
If Holly noticed his high pitch, she did not show it. She handed Edward a beer and took one for herself.
Edward motioned for Holly to sit on the couch; he took the folding chair beside the couch. They talked about the exam. Edward was modest. He had done well, he knew, but suspected that Holly had been nuked.
“I got at least a ‘B’ on the test,” Holly said casually.
“That’s terrific!”
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll even luck out and get an ‘A’.”
He thought she was lying, but he was happy to agree with her.
“I want to thank you for helping me study for the test. You really helped me out.”
“You’re welcome.” Edward looked squarely at Holly for a moment, and she did not look away. “And I’m sorry about the stupid fight.”
“Maybe you can help me with the final, too?”
“Sure!”
After thanking Edward again, Holly drained her beer in three gulps and began talking about her plans to get into publishing. Then she asked Edward about his plans after graduation.
Edward disliked talking about himself, but the combination of Holly and his second beer excited him. “I want to make movies, so I’ll try to get into a film school in California. Maybe UCLA.”
“What makes it so good?” She feigned interest with great skill, eyes bright and smile lively.
Edward took the bait and talked ten minutes, pausing only to open his third beer. Holly nodded and smiled at the perfect moments, playing Edward as a virtuoso plays the piano. Soon Edward was talking about his plans to form his own movie company.
“I like your ambition.”
Edward’s grin made his big ears stand away from his head.
She slowly tucked her legs underneath her bottom. “Do you have any wine, Ed?”
“I—yes, I think I do.” He jumped from his chair, sprinted to the kitchen, and rifled through the refrigerator. When he did not see any wine, he panicked. But then he saw the wine lying behind a loaf of bread.
“Hope you don’t mind regular drinking glasses,” he called.
“Not at all.”
Edward carried the bottle and glasses into the living room. Holly was lying on the couch.
With unsteady hands, Edward filled Holly’s glass, then his.
“Here’s to your movie career,” Holly smiled.
“And to your publishing career.”
They clicked glasses. Holly downed her drink quickly and looked at Edward. She nodded at him, indicating that he too should chug the wine.
He did. The room was suddenly warm. He giggled.
“I’ll pour us another,” Holly said. When Edward gave her his glass, she grasped his hand and pulled him on top of her.
“Jesus Christ,” Edward managed.
Holly encircled Edward with her arms and pushed her groin against his.
Sweat coated his face. He pecked Holly’s cheek, as if she were his grandmother.
“Let’s spool, Ed.”
Edward’s eyes bugged.
“But I don’t want to marry you. Roll on a shower cap.”
“Roll a what?”
“A life jacket, a rubber, a condom, a prophylactic. Whatever you want to call it. Just roll it on.”
Edward disentangled himself from her and ran into his bedroom. He peeled off his clothes, did battle with the uncooperative condom, then looked at himself in the mirror, red-faced. He groaned at his reflection: a pasty, bowlegged pear with an erection.
He took a deep breath and turned around. He nearly collided with Holly.
“That looks very nice.” Holly smiled, looked down at Edward’s erection. She was clothed, and Edward felt ridiculous. He covered his erection with his hands.
“Don’t you want to spool?” Holly asked.
“Obviously.”
“Good. If I let you spool me, will you do me a favor?”
“What’s the favor?” Edward stared at her gym shoes.
“Write a term paper for me.”
“A term paper?”
“It’s the buddy system,” Holly soothed. “You do something for me, I do something for you.”
She pulled Edward’s hands from his penis. It was sagging. “You’re getting a flat.” She massaged his penis, and it was erect in three seconds.
“What’s so wrong with helping each other out?”
“Nothing at all…if I spool you once a week.”
“For an ‘A’ paper?”
“Of course. I don’t write McPapers.”
“Okay. But the paper comes before you do.”
Edward again covered his erection.
“I need to have the paper in hand. An ‘A’ paper. Then we spool.”
“Then we spool,” Edward nodded.
“Got any pop? Maybe a Coke?”
“I don’t think so.” Edward awkwardly stepped backward, wondering what to do with himself.
“That’s OK. I’ve got to get back anyway.”
“Already?” He draped his jacket over his lap, loincloth fashion.
“Hope to see that paper soon, Edward.”
“You will, Holly, and then we…”
She was already gone.
Chapter Sixteen: Dream Anatomy, Dream Physiology
Edward and Holly sat in the student union. For different reasons, both pondered their performance on Alex’s midterm. Edward had earned an “A”. Alex had even scrawled, “Well done. Your answers are well-detailed and direct” on the test. Though Edward was used to “A“‘s, he was euphoric. The praise from a Once Respected Author was exciting.
Holly had crumpled her test into a ball and tossed it in a wastepaper basket. She had expected to do poorly, but Christ! Failing the test unnerved her. Walking to the union, she remarked casually that she had done “OK.” She hinted that the test maintained her “B” average. In fact, she now had a “D” average. Getting a letter of recommendation would be impossible without an “A” on both the term paper and on the final exam.
Edward did not want to gloat, so he asked about Holly’s spring break plans.
“I don’t have the money to go to Florida this year,” Holly said, “so I’ll just stay home and look for some new athletic shoes. Probably a pair of Lambruscos.”
Edward wondered why Holly needed new shoes. Her current pair was impressive enough. They looked less like shoes than sports cars: cherry red, with neon blue trim along the uppers’ dynamic lines.
“Do those shoes come with a tachometer and four on the floor?”
Holly rolled her eyes: Edward was such a loser. “Anyway. What exciting things are you doing during break?”
“I’m staying here.” He leaned forward and spoke with a lowered voice. “I’ll work on the term paper.”
“What will it be about?”
“What would you like it to be about?”
Holly dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand. “Just make it good, and make it look like I wrote it.”
Edward enjoyed the irony of her demand. “Your paper will be about…oh…” His fingers drummed the tabletop. “How about Dylan Thomas?”
“Who’s she?”
“He. He’s a poet. We’ll read him after spring break.” Edward allowed himself a boast. “I’ve worked ahead of schedule, so I have some ideas. Besides, he’s so obscure th
at you can say just about anything.”
Holly nodded, briskly gathered her books. “Well then. See you after break.” Then she whispered: “I’ll need all of that term paper done when I get back.”
Edward blinked.
“All or nothing,” she said as she turned away.
Edward bought another coffee and meandered into the deserted TV room. He stretched out on a couch and watched the news. Despite the coffee, he soon nodded off, the TV’s light flickering on his face. He woke at seven thirty and trudged across campus toward the parking lot.
At the corner of the Academic Center, Edward ran into something.
Edward found himself on the ground, watching exploding red and blue bubbles circle his head. He wondered how he had managed to run into the wall. Then he saw Alex Resartus standing over him.
“Sorry, old sport,” Alex apologized. He pulled Edward to his feet.
The collision had sprung Alex’s briefcase, and Edward winced at the moat of papers that encircled him. Then Edward noticed that Alex was wearing sunglasses in the waning moments of twilight.
They stood looking at one another for an awkward five seconds: Edward staring at the sunglasses, and Alex smiling with the sprung briefcase hanging from his hand. Bothered by Alex’s silence and curious smiling, Edward squatted to gather the papers. Alex simply stood there, allowing Edward to do the work. Edward arranged them into a crude pile and handed them to Alex. Alex balanced his open briefcase on one palm and shoved the pile inside; the briefcase bulged and barely locked.
“Thank you,” Alex said with incongruous cheer. “Great to see you. And have a good break.” Alex nodded and continued on his way. His gait was tentative, as if he walked on ice.
Edward watched Alex until he disappeared from view, then headed to his car. He pondered the odd behavior of writers. Edward guessed that many writers cultivated their eccentricity, as a rocker or a rapper cultivates arrogance or as a salesman cultivates aggression. Alex’s oddity, however, seemed genuine.
These musings were interrupted when he kicked something and heard a soft pinging sound. An amber prescription bottle rolled off the sidewalk and onto the grass. Edward took it inside the AcademicCenter to examine it.
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