Painted Ladies

18

The pub was in the student union, off the student cafeteria. A sign at the door said Proper ID Required for Service. It was neat and clean, with a lot of glass and stainless steel. It didn’t look like a pub. It looked like the cocktail lounge at an airport. There was music I didn’t like that was playing in the room. But it was discreet enough so we could talk. Things were slow still, and the room was two-thirds empty.

Bev and I had a beer. Sandy had a glass of chardonnay.

“Thank God it’s evening,” Bev said.

We drank. They drank faster. They were nearly through the first drink by the time I got to my interrogation.

“Did you like Dr. Prince?” I said.

“Well, sure,” Sandy said. “I mean, the poor man.”

“You don’t need to like him because he was killed,” I said. “Did you like him when he was alive?”

They looked at each other. It was apparently a harder question than I had expected. While they looked, I got the waitress and ordered another round.

“I always had the feeling,” Sandy said after the drinks came, “that he was, like, looking through my clothes.”

Sandy was slight, with brown hair and glasses and nice eyes.

“Face it,” Bev said. “He was a cockhound.”

Bev was dark-haired and somewhat zaftig, with a slight almond shape to her eyes.

“He ever make an attempt on your virtue?” I said.

“He made an attempt on everyone’s virtue,” Sandy said.

“He succeed much?” I said.

“Not with me,” Sandy said firmly.

I looked at Bev. She grinned at me. Both girls had emptied their glasses again. We got another round. Sometimes it went easier with booze.

After the waitress left, I said, “How about you, Bev?”

She nodded slowly.

“We had a night,” she said. “He seemed like he was in a hurry.”

“How so?” I said.

“It was like . . . you know, not a lot of foreplay.”

“Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am,” I said.

Bev laughed.

“Exactly,” she said. “It was like once he got me into bed, he wanted to get it over with and move on somewhere.”

“Probably the next girl,” Sandy said.

Bev smiled again.

“Like I said, he’s a cockhound . . . was.”

“He, ah, friendly,” I said, “with others in the class?”

“Others?” Sandy said. “The only other girl in class is Missy. He wasn’t interested in the boys.”

“Was he friendly with Missy?” I said.

“Sure,” Sandy said.

I could hear the wine in her voice.

“How friendly?”

“She liked him,” Bev said.

“She was sort of his girlfriend, I think,” Sandy said.

“Doesn’t seem the girlfriend type,” I said.

Sandy shrugged.

“She never said much,” Sandy said. “But I know she was with him a lot.”

“You didn’t like him,” I said to Sandy.

“I thought he was a creepy old guy. I didn’t want to see him with his clothes off. . . .” She made a face.

“But you liked him,” I said to Bev.

I had no idea where I was going. I just wanted to keep them talking and see if anything popped out.

“Not really,” Bev said. “But I kinda liked the idea of bop-ping a professor, you know? Only once, though.”

“Ever meet his wife?” I said.

They both shook their heads.

“I didn’t know he had one,” Bev said.

“I guess neither did he,” Sandy said.

“Would it have mattered?” I said to Bev.

“Hell, no,” Bev said. “That’s between him and her. Not up to me to, you know, keep him faithful to his wife.”

“True,” I said.

We lasted another hour. I didn’t learn anything else. But they had gotten drunk enough so I wouldn’t have had much faith in anything they told me, anyway. I stood.

“Good night, ladies,” I said.

“How ’bout you,” Bev said. “You married?”

“Kind of,” I said.

“You cheat?” Bev said.

“No,” I said.

“Really?” Bev said.

“Really,” I said. “But thanks for asking.”