Twisted

CHAPTER 32

THURSDAY, JUNE 20, 3:00 P.M., THIRD SUBBASEMENT, DOHENY LIBRARY

It would help,” said Klara Distenfield, “if you could be a bit more specific about what you’re after and why.”

Isaac, smiling up at her from his worktable, said, “Sorry, that’s all I can say.”

“Boy,” said Klara. “Talk about high intrigue.”

She was a senior research librarian, forty-one years old, bright and sophisticated, with thick calves, a soft, heavy bosom, long, wavy, flaming red hair that she barretted at the sides, and a peach-blush complexion.

Klara had a soft spot for graduate students. Isaac’s reputation had preceded him, and the divorced mother of two gifted kids had made sure to be available when he had reference questions.

Isaac had fantasized wildly about her, on and off, since the first time they met.

Lately, Petra’s faced had nudged Klara’s out. Still, when he spotted her, filling out one of those flowered dresses…

Today’s dress was pale green printed with white peonies and yellow butterflies, some sort of clingy material, not silk, trying to be silk…

Klara said, “Earth to Isaac,” and flashed a generous mouthful of white teeth.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know it sounds oblique, but I really can’t say more.”

“Official police business, huh?”

Did she just wink?

He said, “Nothing exciting.”

“Do they treat you well over there?”

“Very well.”

“Still,” she said, “it must be quite a contrast to here.” She motioned with one soft arm, taking in the book-lined stacks.

“It’s different,” he said.

Klara leaned against the table and nibbled on the eraser of her pencil. Her breasts swung, luxuriant, barely fettered.

Older women, he just loved the way they… what was wrong with him?

What was wrong was he was a sexual retardate. But for a couple of unfortunate encounters with hookers set up by Flaco Jaramillo, he was a damned virgin.

Klara said, “Are you okay, Isaac? You look kind of fatigued.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” She rolled the pencil against one hip. “Well, that’s all I’ve managed to come up with, so far.”

She aimed her gold-green eyes at the computer printout she’d laid on his work surface. Hundreds of historical events tied in with June 28. Nothing he hadn’t seen already.

Perhaps the clue was in here, among all that history, but if it was he was missing it.

“I really appreciate the time, Klara.”

“My pleasure.” She shifted even closer and his nose filled with the sweet scent of soap and water. Concern widened her eyes and smoothed out her laugh lines. “You really do look tired. Especially there.” A pale hand indicated the skin beneath his eyes. A fingertip grazed his right cheek and electric current sizzled along his thighs. He crossed his legs, hoping Klara hadn’t noticed his erection.

She smiled. Had she?

“I’m at the top of my game,” he told her. “Energy-wise.”

“Well, that’s good. It’s refreshing to hear some confidence from you. You grad students fall into two groups: slackers and slaves. You’re the latter, Isaac. You’re here all the time. Alone.”

His spot was in the remotest corner of the subbasement, surrounded by old and ancient books on botany. Since Leavey Library had opened, all the undergrads studied there. Doheny- huge, grand, restored magnificently- served grad students and faculty but everyone did their research on-line.

Once in a while someone wandered up there looking for an obscure text. Mostly he had the place to himself. So different from home, sharing that cell of a room with his brothers, the street noise…

“I enjoy the solitude,” he said.

“I know you do.” Klara pushed a wave of copper hair away from her face. Not a beautiful face, not by a long shot. More… pleasant. Clean-looking.

“My daughter, Amy, wants to be a physician. A surgeon, no less. She’s smart enough, but I tell her, ‘You’re twelve, there’s time to decide.’ She is a straight-A student, though. So maybe.”

“You must be proud of her,” said Isaac.

“I am. Proud of her brother, too.” A new kind of smile. Open, maternal. Suddenly Isaac couldn’t banish the vision of nursing at those pendulous… and then there they were, blocking his vision as she leaned down.

Presented her mouth to him.

Like stepping off a precipice, he moved in. Her tongue tasted lemony, the sweet lemon of hard candies. Had she schemed to do this? That possibility excited him further and he felt he’d burst out of his pants.

Now she was in his lap, a soft, substantive weight, arms curling around him. His hands found her back, her breasts, reached under her dress, touched smooth flesh. Smooth thighs, warm and moist lifted and she was allowing him, she wasn’t stopping him.

Then she took hold of his hand, placed it over the silky material. Butterflies jumped. Even as she pushed him down, she said, “Oh, Isaac, I’m sorry. This is wrong.”

He tried to pull away but she held his hand fast. Sandwiched the other between her legs. Looked him straight in the eye and said, “This won’t happen again.”

With a clumsy shifting of haunches, her eyes aimed at the ceiling, she rolled off her panties.