The young woman with the old face sat at the table nearest the restroom. Her name was Marie, and she was a prostitute, thief, and crystal meth addict. For twenty bucks, Marie would tell you anything you wanted to know about her life, and for another twenty, she’d throw in a blow job. She’d been pretty once, a runner-up in the Miss Teen New Mexico pageant when she was sixteen, but looking at her in this place, her hair greasy and sticking to her pimply forehead, it was hard to believe.
Ethan had talked to Marie every week for the last four weeks and she’d agreed to be one of his long-term case studies. He was planning to follow her progress—or lack thereof—over the next year as he finished his master’s thesis. Assuming she stuck around St. Mary’s long enough. You never knew where these people would be from one week to the next.
Marie’s eyes finally shifted toward Ethan and he locked his gaze on hers. It was hard for her to stay focused for more than a few seconds. The meth made her twitchy. Ethan jerked his head in the direction of the shelter’s side door. She sighed, but made no move to get up. Finally she nodded.
Glancing at Abby, Ethan asked another volunteer to man his green bean station. His girlfriend was engrossed in conversation with the head coordinator, but she favored Ethan with a smile as he passed. Abby knew all about his interviews with Marie, and it didn’t matter to her that he was here for reasons unrelated to any sense of humanitarianism.
Ethan smirked inwardly. Humanitarianism. Please. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to anyone at this shithole beyond the scope of his thesis. But he admired Abby’s enthusiasm—it set her apart from Sheila. He couldn’t imagine his professor ever showing up and getting her pretty little hands dirty. Especially now that she had a massive fucking diamond hanging off it.
Marie. Focus on Marie. The homeless woman was inside his circle of control. Sheila, at least for the time being, was not. There was plenty of time to deal with his former lover later.
He watched as Marie exited the room through the back door. Really, who would notice if Marie disappeared off the face of the earth? She had no permanent home, no job, no skills. Both her parents were dead and her brother in Albuquerque wanted nothing to do with her. If she went missing, if she was kidnapped and murdered and cut up into little pieces and buried in a place where nobody would ever find her, who would care?
Nobody.
The thought excited him.
He found her standing several feet into the alleyway between St. Mary’s and the army surplus store next door, which was closed for the night. The air was warm but Marie looked cold. A fresh cigarette dangled between stained fingers, and one skinny arm was wrapped around her body for warmth. The light was dim and kind to her. She almost passed for pretty.
“What now?” Marie’s voice was flat. “I told you everything last week.”
“That’s the point, Marie,” Ethan said patiently. He glanced up and down the alleyway. They were alone. “We’re supposed to talk every week, remember? That’s the deal.”
“Fuck that.”
“You don’t want the money?” Ethan reached into his pocket and took out a thin wad of cash. He peeled off a crisp $20 bill, waving it in her face. “All you have to do is talk. A lot easier than some of the other shit people ask you to do.”
She snatched the money and stuck it into the pocket of her jeans.
“What did you do this week?” he asked.
“Scored, got high, scored, got high . . .”
“What about your kid?” Ethan’s eyes searched her face. “Did you call him like you said you were going to?”
“I was high when I said that.” Marie flicked ashes onto the cement. They burned orange a moment before dying out. “I got no business calling him.”
“I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”
“He don’t want to talk to me. Trust me.”
“Which is why you should call him,” Ethan said with a sigh. “So eventually he will want to talk to you, so he knows you care.”
“It don’t work like that. And besides, my brother would never give him the phone.” Marie’s voice was hard.
“So you still haven’t contacted anybody?” Ethan watched her face carefully. “No family, no friends, nobody from Albuquerque?”
“Nope.”
“So nobody knows where you are?”
“They can all go fuck themselves.” She fingered her necklace. It was a silver amulet on a black leather string. She’d told him last week that it was the only thing she’d brought with her from New Mexico, other than the clothes on her back. Something to ward off evil spirits. It glinted in the dim light of the alley.
Ethan nodded, satisfied.
Marie crushed her cigarette out with her running shoe. She stepped closer to him, tracing one skinny, nicotine-stained finger down the front of his shirt. “So, listen.” Her voice was suddenly husky. “I could use another twenty.”
Her breath was foul from poor hygiene and too many cigarettes. Ethan moved away. “My girlfriend’s inside.”
“So what? For forty I’ll let you do that thing you like, only this time don’t squeeze so—”
“Not tonight.”
“Since when?” Marie sighed and her voice returned to normal. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”
“Some other time.” Ethan glanced down the alley.
“When? When are—”
A voice interrupted them. “Ethan? You there?”
It was Abby. Ethan could make out the shape of her head peeking around the corner of the building and into the alleyway.
“I’m here,” he called out.
“We need you back inside, babe. We can’t get the dishwasher working and we could use your magic hands.”
“Be right there.” Abby’s head disappeared and Ethan turned his attention back to Marie. “Sunday. Meet me here, late. Midnight. But don’t tell anyone—nobody—or you don’t get paid.”
“Midnight? For another twenty bucks?”
“A hundred.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed and she fished into her pocket for another cigarette. “A hundred for what?”
“You’ll find out next Sunday.” He looked at her hard in the dim light. “You don’t show, we’re done. I’ll find someone else for my case study.”
He started walking back down the alley toward the entrance of the shelter, leaving Marie standing alone. He heard the flick of her lighter somewhere behind him.
Enjoy the cigarettes, darling. There are only so many left in your future.
CHAPTER : 7
Her skirt was too tight.
Sheila could feel the waistband cutting into her stomach, but there was nothing she could do about it now except suck it in and act natural. Two hundred pairs of eyes were on her, and they were unforgiving. They caught every mistake, every stumble, every inconsistency.
Especially Ethan, whose gaze was unwavering from the front row. The picture he’d sent her flashed through her mind for the umpteenth time.
Pacing the lecture hall slowly, she forced herself to focus. The small mike pinned to her silk blouse picked up every word with perfect clarity and transmitted it to the speakers overhead. She looked up at the rows of expectant faces watching her in the auditorium, organizing her thoughts before speaking.
“I want you all to think about your own relationships, the people in your own lives. Your parents, for instance. How alike are they to each other? If you have brothers and sisters, which ones are you closest to, and why? And your friends. Why are they your friends? Is it because you have similar interests? Similar ways of thinking? Similar patterns of behavior?
“Or do you enjoy being around people who are different from you? If you’re an introvert, do you gravitate toward people who are outgoing? Chatty? Social? If you’re an extrovert, is your partner an extrovert as well? Or does he or she complement you by being perfectly content to sit in the background and let you shine?
“What do you think, people? Like attracts like, or opposites attract?”
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Sheila stopped and scanned the room. Several hands were raised. She pointed to a young man in a plaid shirt and horn-rimmed glasses. “Mark. What do you think?”
“My girlfriend is the exact opposite of me.” Mark’s lazy voice barely carried through the large lecture hall. “She’s short, I’m tall. She’s smart, I’m not.” The class laughed appreciatively. “She questions everything, whereas I mostly take things at face value.”
“Very good,” Sheila said with a smile. “So opposites attract as far as you’re concerned, at least in terms of personality. I’ll come back to you in a second. Anyone else? Priya?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, but I know I’m drawn to people who are like me.” Priya was a pretty girl with jet-black braids who always sat in the third row. “I don’t know if that makes me boring, but I always have a lot in common with my friends and tend to shy away from people who seem too different.”
“Which is a common thing, actually.” Sheila clicked the small remote control in her hand. The large screen changed to show a picture of smiling, similar-looking people attending church. “Think about all the social groups out there. School clubs. Organizations. We’re drawn to people who are like ourselves, people who have the same beliefs, because most of us just want to belong. It’s human nature.”
Her eyes passed over Ethan’s face. He was smirking. Suddenly her throat felt a bit dry. Sheila paused to take a sip of water from the stainless steel bottle she always kept on the desk in the lecture hall and forced him out of her mind. “Now let’s talk about appearance. Mark, you said your girlfriend is short and you’re tall. But what does she look like? Facially?”
Mark’s eyebrows furrowed in thought behind his glasses. “Um . . . she has blue eyes, like me. People say we have the same coloring. And both our noses are crooked.”
“How about you, Michelle?” Sheila looked directly at a student in the front row. “What does your boyfriend look like? Does he sort of look like you?”
Michelle, a blonde with huge blue eyes, giggled and blushed slightly. “Yeah. People think we’re brother and sister.”
“Gross!” said a male student from somewhere in the middle of the lecture hall. The class erupted in good-natured laughter.
“Folks, this is not uncommon.” Sheila forced a smile. “So here’s your homework assignment for the week. I want you to think about all the couples you know—could be your parents, grandparents, even celebrity couples—and consider their appearances. Think about what they look like, and conclude whether these couples look more the same than they do different, or more different than they do the same. Also, think about the people you find yourself attracted to. Girls and guys you’ve had crushes on, or dated. What did they look like compared to you? Similarities? Differences? Next week we’ll compare notes. I’ll be interested to know what you’ve discovered. Thanks, everyone.”
Time was up. The room grew loud as students shut laptops, shoved books into backpacks, and flipped open cell phones.
Sheila downed the rest of her water and stuck the hard steel bottle into her leather bag. Valerie Kim and Caroline Stevens immediately approached her to ask if she needed help getting prepared for next week’s class, something her TAs typically did before leaving the lecture hall. She assured them they were clear, and they left Sheila alone to pack up her briefcase.
She was painfully aware of Ethan’s eyes on her. He’d made no attempt to leave the room and was still seated in the same spot he always occupied during her lectures—front row, right side, the desk closest to the podium. The last couple of weeks had been torturous. Having to stand in front of two hundred students knowing that one of them had a video of her naked, writhing, and covered in sweat? Forget painful. It was humiliating.
A student approached as Sheila was snapping her briefcase shut. She smiled to hide her annoyance. Leanne had been peppering her with questions lately, clearly a type A student who needed clarification on every test and assignment.
“Of course everything we talk about in class is subject to examination,” Sheila said to the gangly student again, who had her pen and notebook ready in case she needed to jot something down. “As I said last week, Leanne, everything is testable. Class discussions, assigned reading. Even the footnotes.”
“The footnotes, too?” Panic filled Leanne’s brown eyes, which were already comically wide. “Oh my God.”
“I’m kidding.” Sheila placed a hand on the sophomore’s skinny arm. “A little professorial humor. Of course not the footnotes. Leanne, don’t fret so much. If you’ve done all the assigned readings and haven’t missed any lectures, you’ll be fine. And don’t forget to talk to your TA. What’s your last name again?”
“Armstrong.”
Sheila’s reassuring smile wavered slightly. “Then your teaching assistant is Ethan Wolfe. He’s your first source of information. Don’t be afraid to call or e-mail him, or drop by during his office hours to ask him questions. That’s what he’s there for.”
She pointed to Ethan, who appeared to be having an intense discussion with a doe-eyed female student who’d taken a seat next to him. Another coed hovered nearby, waiting her turn. Ethan had always been good with the girls.
“Um, Dr. Tao?” Leanne leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I did e-mail Ethan last week. Twice. And I called. And when I went by his office yesterday, he wasn’t there. I haven’t been able to get ahold of him for over a week. And I’m not the only one.” Leanne looked over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to get him in trouble. I know he’s supposed to handle these types of questions. But he hasn’t been available. Otherwise I’d never bother you with it.”
Sheila thought for a moment, then patted Leanne’s arm again. “Of course it’s not a bother. You can come to me anytime. I’ll check with Ethan today and see what’s up, maybe his schedule’s out of whack somehow. I trust everything’s going well otherwise?” The brightness in Sheila’s tone was forced.
“Everything’s fine.” Leanne’s dark ponytail bobbed up and down. “Great class, Professor. See you next week.”
Sheila started shutting down her laptop. The PowerPoint presentation on the screen behind her disappeared. Slinging her bags over her shoulders, she risked one more glance at Ethan, only to find him staring at her again. He was alone now, books in hand, about to pack up his own bag.
A trio of students still lingered in the lecture hall, chattering loudly in one of the aisles. Hesitating, Sheila walked toward Ethan, her insides tight.
She couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time.
“Professor Tao,” Ethan said as she approached. His light gray eyes crawled over her face, missing nothing. “Great lecture today. Very engaging. Even learned something new, though of course I took this class as an undergrad. You have such a refreshing take on classic theories.”
Always the terrific bullshitter. He usually got away with it because of his good looks and cocky demeanor. But today, the very sound of his voice made her want to throw up.
“We need to talk.” Her voice was low. She was hyperaware of the three students still chatting about twenty feet away in the otherwise empty hall.
“Oh?” He continued to study her. “About anything in particular?”
“You know exactly what this is about.”
“Let me guess. Leanne Armstrong tattled on me.” He finally broke eye contact to glance at his watch. “Can this wait?”
Unbelievable. He knew damn well this wasn’t about Leanne. Fine, he wanted to play it that way, so be it.
“No, it can’t.” Her voice was still quiet, but she spoke with authority. “Whatever the hell’s going on between us, you still work for me, and you still need to do your job.”
Ethan laughed, and the sound echoed in the large auditorium. He didn’t care who might be listening. “You’re ballsy. I always liked that about you. Always so professional.”
“Ethan—”
“So why don’t you do my job as well? From now on, I’ll redirect all student conc
erns to you. You can handle that, can’t you?” He cocked his head to one side. “I know how much you care about your students, Dr. Tao. You’d never let them down. Especially me.”
The three students still chatting in the lecture hall were watching them, perplexed looks on their faces. Sheila didn’t think they could hear anything from where they were standing, but there was no way to know.
Ethan leaned in closer and she could smell his cinnamon breath. “I watched our video again last night, Sheila, and I am this close to making you famous. Go ahead. Push me.”
CHAPTER : 8
Normally Sheila would complain about spending all day Saturday watching college football in Morris’s gigantic living room. She had nothing against football, but it wasn’t her idea of a fun time.
However, she couldn’t bear to protest. Her days with Morris were numbered. Any moment now, it would all come crashing down, and she wanted to enjoy what happy times they had left. Watching football with him was the least she could do.
He was yelling at the TV, clutching an old football in his hands as he always did when the Longhorns played. He had no idea how beautiful he was. She loved everything about him—his thick brown hair with a touch of gray at the temples, the crinkles around his blue eyes that gave him character. He was dressed in jeans and a half-unbuttoned white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his strong forearms. He caught her staring at him and winked.
The game went to commercial. Putting the football down, Morris leaned toward her, cupped her face in his big hands, and kissed her deeply. He smelled the way he always smelled—a blend of fabric softener, soap, and spicy citrus aftershave.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach—they always did when he kissed her like that. She parted her lips, slipping her tongue inside his mouth, and let her hands wander down to his belt.
From somewhere nearby, wherever she had dropped her purse, her BlackBerry chimed. She had a new e-mail.