Quokka Question

TEN

Today Rube had abandoned his brown cardigan, and was wearing wrinkled brown trousers and an old tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. I was in student garb, jeans and T-shirt. Things were going swimmingly for me at the Department of Organismic Biology, Ecology and Evolution. Of course I'd hooted when Rube told me that was the full title of the biology department, but he'd assured me it was true.

So far this morning I'd met a whole lot of people, and hadn't put my foot in my mouth once. This was probably because I limited myself to "G'day" and a shy, modest smile. At least, I started off with my version of a shy, modest smile, but between introductions Rube Wasinsky chortled and said it made me look startlingly simple-minded. I then switched to an expression of thoughtful gravity.

Rube and I were heading back to Professor Yarrow's office to see if he was in residence so I could finally meet him, when the sounds of a loud altercation rang down the corridor.

"It's a crime against nature!" exclaimed a shrill voice. "Unnatural!"

"Codswallop! You're an abysmally stupid woman."

"Uh-oh," said Rube. "Pen's on the warpath."

"Homosexuality is a perversion! A gay animal is a sinful animal!"

We rounded the corner to find Pen and Georgia Tapp toe-to-toe, but not nose-to-nose, as Pen Braithwaite loomed over the administrative assistant. Height was not the only contrast between them. Georgia wore a neat pink dress, stockings, and moderate high heels. Pen had on ancient jeans and man's shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

A small crowd had collected, and some were calling out comments and helpful advice.

Hands on hips, her well-upholstered form rigid with outrage, Georgia threw back her head, flared her nostrils, and declared, "Any homosexual animal should be put to death before it can pervert others of its breed."

Pen snorted, her nostrils similarly flared. Her tawny hair seemed almost to put out sparks. "Put plainly, you're an idiot. Do you think a lesbian sheep says to herself, 'I'm a bad, wicked sheep. I'll turn to the dark side and seduce that innocent ewe over there.'"

"How disgusting," spluttered Georgia.

Pen thrust her chin out with even more belligerence. "Open your closed, ossified mind, Georgia, and read the research. Homosexuality, bisexuality-it's a normal part of nature."

Shaking her head violently, Georgia declared, "I'll never believe that. Never!"

"Believe it. It's been documented-well-documented. There are homosexual ostriches. There are homosexual walruses. There are homosexual sage grouse. There are homosexual-"

"Arrgh!" Georgia clapped her hands over her ears. "Stop this filthy talk."

"What's going on here?" demanded an imperious voice. It was Jack Yarrow himself, his expression a blend of ire and indignation. He gaze swept the assembled spectators. "Show's over, ladies and gentlemen," he said with a sardonic sneer. "Back to work." No one moved.

I compared the man with the photographs I'd seen in the file Lonnie had given me. They'd clearly shown Yarrow's domed forehead with its Roman Empire hairstyle vainly attempting to hide his growing baldness. His small, flatfish nose was the same, as were his prominent washed-out blue-gray eyes and thin-lipped mouth. What hadn't been indicated was his excellent physique. He had a well-muscled, flat-stomached body with wide shoulders and narrow waist. And in person his skin was peculiar, being thick and white and somehow creepy, as though if I put a finger out and pushed his cheek, my finger would leave a distinct crater. Errk!

"Oh, Professor Yarrow," twittered Georgia, "Dr. Braithwaite viciously attacked me because of my deeply held beliefs."

Yarrow flicked a contemptuous look at Pen, who, arms folded, was leaning serenely against the wall. "I'm sure you held your ground against Dr. Braithwaite, Georgia. Her arguments are often fallacious."

"Is that so?" said Pen, straightening up.

"Have you got a moment, Jack?" Rube interposed hastily. "I'd like you to meet Kyle Kendall, my new graduate student, who'll be pitching in to help us with the Global Marsupial Symposium."

Yarrow glanced at me, then took another look. A smile appeared on his mouth-his eyes remained cold. "My wife mentioned meeting you. Do come into my office and we can have a chat about your time with us."

When Rube went to come too, Yarrow said, "I'll send her back to you later."

Rube looked worried, which mirrored how I felt. This was the crucial test, where I fooled Yarrow into believing I was who I said I was. Stone the crows, I wished I'd studied the biology stuff more closely. This bloke could trip me up without really trying. And my mind had gone blank. Blimey! What was the exact name of the research paper I was supposed to be involved in? I'd have to find some way to deflect him from asking too many pointed questions.

I meekly followed Professor Yarrow into his room, which was very well-appointed, with a thick maroon carpet, a heavy desk which was obviously not standard issue, and walls lined with custom-made bookshelves.

He closed the door behind us, then sat down behind his desk and waved me to a chair. "Welcome to UCLA, Kylie."

"G'day, Professor Yarrow."

A small, frosty smile on his lips, he gave me a slow once-over. He nodded. "Well, well, some good does come out of the antipodes."

"Is that a compliment?"

He looked surprised. "You may read it as such. Why?"

"Just wondered if I would thank you, or take offense and counterattack."

"I believe I'd prefer a thank-you," he said drily. "University of Western Australia, is it?"

"That's right."

"Then you'd know Howard Leadbeater."

Trick question. Good thing I'd thought to ask Lonnie to research the faculty for past and present VIPs in the world of biological science. "I know of him. He's a world authority on marsupials, but of course I never had the chance to meet him. He'd fallen off the perch long before I got there."

"Fallen off the perch?" His mouth twisted in a most unpleasant way. "How quaint."

"Thank you, Professor Yarrow."

The deep sincerity in my voice brought a slight frown to his pale forehead. "Australians as a race are admirable," he intoned, "except for your propensity to use diminutives and excessively colorful colloquialisms."

"Hang on a mo," I said. "Fair crack of the whip. Aussies save a lot of time with those shortened words. Like, would you mind if I called you Prof?"

"I believe I would."

"Right-oh," I said. "Professor it is."

"Now, the research paper you're working on with Dr. Wasinsky…?"

I put my hand to my mouth to cover a fake yawn. "Sorry, Professor Yarrow, just got to L.A., so I'm a bit jet-lagged."

"The title of your paper?"

Crikey, this bloke was persistent. "Distribution and Movement Patterns of Urban Platypuses," I said, then had a stab at the appropriate Latin label. "Ornithorhynchus anatinus in the creeks and rivers near urban areas."

The platypus was, as Rube had pointed out to me, a notoriously shy animal, so the discovery of platypuses living in waterways close to large towns and cities was an eye-opener.

"Monotremes, the lowest order of mammals," the professor said with little enthusiasm. Rube had deliberately chosen a field he knew Yarrow wasn't particularly interested in, so that he wouldn't be likely to ask probing questions or follow-up on the work I was supposed to be doing.

"But so fascinating!" I exclaimed. "I'm captivated by the fact that the platypus has its own specially adapted species of tick."

Professor Yarrow got up and came around my side of the desk. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he said, "Ah, the enthusiasm of youth." His grip tightened. "Such zest for life is so attractive in a young woman."

While I was considering my options-play along or unceremoniously brush his fingers off-the office door abruptly opened.

"Jack," said Winona Worsack, gliding into the room, "am I interrupting something?"

Yarrow ripped his hand off me fast. "My dear, of course not."

His wife looked pointedly at my shoulder, then at him. "I thought we might lunch together, darling," she said. "Unless you have something more pressing to do…"

"An excellent idea. Excellent." He turned to me, all business. "As I was saying, I'm sure your time with us will be most valuably spent with Dr. Wasinsky. Unfortunately, my attention will be largely taken up by the symposium, so if you have any concerns or worries I'm afraid you'll have to channel them through my assistant, Ms. Tapp."

From her expression, Winona wasn't having any wool pulled over her eyes. "You always manage to make yourself available when you feel it necessary, Jack." She darted a glance at me. "I'm sure if-"

"Kylie," I said obligingly.

"I'm sure if Kylie needs your attention, she'll get it."

"The Global Marsupial Symposium is all-consuming at the moment, Winona," he said with a frown. "I scarcely have time for my own work, let alone worrying about supervision of a visiting graduate student."

I took this as my cue to hop it. "Bye, Prof. And nice to see you again, Mrs. Yarrow."

He looked pained. She looked irritated.

He said, "Professor, if you don't mind."

She said, "I don't use Yarrow. You may refer to me as Dr. Worsack."

"Sorry."

I left her glaring at him-I was betting lunch wasn't going to be much fun-and set off for Rube Wasinsky's office. I was getting a feel for the geography of the place, so I found it without too much trouble.

Rube's furnishings were nothing like Yarrow's: standard-issue desk, rickety bookcase, a floor of the same material as the hallway. Pen Braithwaite was sitting in his chair with her feet up on the desk. She was wearing quite the ugliest sandals I had ever seen, consisting of many khaki-colored straps attached to a massive sole.

"Rube's off getting me coffee," she said. "How'd it go with Yarrow?"

I recounted the events, including his wife's entrance. Pen snickered happily. "Narrow escape there, Kylie. In two shakes his hand would have been wandering south."

"Good thing Dr. Worsack came in, then."

"Winona? What do you think of her?"

"I haven't had much time to form an opinion, but I reckon she doesn't like me."

"Winona's a professional medievalist," said Pen contemptuously. "Always in costume with those long dresses. Even plays the bloody lyre, would you believe? Jack Yarrow married her for her money, but God knows why she married him. Though I hear he's a randy bastard…"

"He has quite a good body," I observed.

Pen swung her feet off the table and sat up. "You're bi?"

"Not a chance."

Pen sank back in the chair and put her feet up again. "Your partner, Ariana, is a very attractive woman."

I agreed this was so in my best noncommittal tone.

"Has she thawed out yet?" Pen inquired.

It seemed best to play dumb. "I'm sorry?"

"Ariana gave me the big freeze after I mentioned Natalie Ives."

"She was a bit withdrawn," I conceded.

Pen let out a bellow of laughter. "Withdrawn! She near froze my titties off!"

I winced. Pen's voice would carry quite a way. "I'm sure she didn't mean it personally," I said.

"I didn't know the Ives woman," said Pen. "She was before my time. I joined the UCLA faculty just as she was retiring."

My pulse rate went up. Maybe I'd find out who Natalie was without really trying. "Oh?" I said. "So she was in the psychology department with you?"

"Psychology? What made you think that? She was an English scholar. Very noted in her field of-what was it?" Pen gazed at the ceiling for inspiration, which came almost immediately. "Nineteenth-century British literature," she announced triumphantly.

Rube swept in with three coffees on a cardboard tray. "Thought you'd be here," he said, handing me one of the thick paper cups, "but you should be making good use of your time chatting up Georgia Tapp."

I expected a flare-up from Pen at the mention of the Tapp woman's name, but she was smiling. "That was fun this morning," she said. "I love getting up Georgia's nose. She's so predictable."

"I think you should handle her with kid gloves," said Rube. "Georgia's the rigid type who'll snap one day, bring a gun to work and start blasting away." He added severely, "And you, Pen, will be her number one target."

Pen's grin widened. "Kylie, you should have been here the day I pointed out to Georgia the dangers of repressing her sexuality, and made some concrete suggestions about how she might loosen up. She damn near imploded!"

"I thought I'd start with Erin Fogarty," I said. "Oscar said he thought she'd passed on his quokka research to Jack Yarrow."

Pen's smile disappeared. "She's having an affair with Yarrow, the silly little fool. Working her butt off researching papers she fondly believes will be published with her name under his. That won't happen. Professor Jack Yarrow is the only author that will appear. There'll be no mention of her substantial contributions."

"What if she makes a fuss?" I asked.

Rube grunted. "Erin Fogarty's a student: Yarrow's a renowned professor. Say she goes public and accuses him of taking all the credit when she did most of the work. Who'd listen to her?" His mouth turned down. "Unfortunately, it's not all that rare in the academic world, but Yarrow's a particularly egregious offender."

"He's a bastard," said Pen. "You're right, Kylie. Concentrate on the Fogarty girl." She mused for a moment. "You could seduce her. Pillow talk's useful."

"Crikey, you're asking a lot!"

Pen raised her eyebrows. "You're not open to a little hanky-panky?"

"You've got that right."

"Tsk," said Pen. "Subjugating your natural, healthy sexual instincts is unwise."

"I'll risk it."

Pen gave me a slow smile. "A risk taker," she said. "I like that."