approached it a man about his own age—no, he corrected himself, a man in his early forties, an older man—slapped Jeff's shoulder in an amiable manner.
"Jeff, how goes it? Who's your lovely young friend?"
Jeff looked blankly at the man's face: glasses, salt-and-pepper beard, wide grin. He looked vaguely familiar, but no more.
"This is Judy Gordon. Judy, ah, I'd like you to meet … "
"Professor Samuels," she said. "My roommate has you for Medieval Lit."
"And her name is—?"
"Paula Hawkins."
The man's grin widened further, and he nodded twice. "Excellent student. Very bright young lady, Paula. I trust my class comes recommended?"
"Oh, yes, sir," Judy said. "Paula's told me all about you."
"Then perhaps we'll be blessed with your own delightful presence in the fall."
"I can't rightly say just yet, Professor Samuels. I haven't really decided on my schedule for next year."
"Drop by my office. We'll discuss it. And you, Jeff: good job on that Chaucer paper, but I had to give you a B for incomplete citations. Watch that next time, will you?"
"Yes, sir. I'll remember."
"Good, good. See you in class." He waved them off, went back to his beer.
When they got to the booth, Judy slid in next to Jeff and started giggling.
"What's so funny?"
"Don't you know about him? Dr. Samuels?"
Jeff hadn't even been able to recall the professor's name.
"No, what about him?"
"He's a dirty old man, that's what. He chases after all the girls in his classes—the cute ones, anyway.
Paula said he put his hand on her thigh one time after class—like this."
She put her girlish fingers on Jeff's leg, rubbed it, and squeezed.
"Can you imagine?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone. "He's, older than my father, even. 'Drop by my office'—huh! I know what he'd want to discuss. Isn't that just the most disgusting thing you ever heard, a man his age acting like that?"
Her hand still rested on Jeff's thigh, an inch or so away from his growing erection. He looked at her innocent round eyes, her sweet red mouth, and had a sudden fantasy of Judy going down on him right there in the booth. Dirty old man, he thought, and laughed.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"You don't believe me about Dr. Samuels, do you?"
"I believe you. No, it's just—you, me, everything. I had to laugh, that's all. What do you want to drink?"
"The regular."
"A triple zombie, right?"
The worried look left her face, and she laughed along with him. "Silly; I want a glass of red wine, just like always. Can't you remember anything tonight?"
Judy's lips against his were as soft as he had imagined, had remembered. The fresh scent of her hair, the youthful smoothness of her skin excited him to a degree he hadn't felt since the early days with Linda, before their marriage. The car windows were down, and Judy rested the back of her head on the cushioned doorframe as Jeff kissed her. Andy Williams was singing "The Days of Wine and Roses" on the radio, and the fragrance of dogwood blossoms mingled with the scent of Judy's soft, clean skin. They were parked on a wooded street a mile or so away from the campus; Judy had directed him there after they'd left the bar.
The conversation tonight had gone better than Jeff had expected. Basically, he'd followed Judy's lead as they talked, let her be the one to mention names and places and events. He'd reacted from memory or the cues he took from her expression and tone of voice. He'd made only one anachronistic slip: They'd been talking about students they knew who were planning to move off campus next year, and Jeff had said he might sublet a condo. She'd never heard the word, but he quickly explained it away as something new from California that he'd read about and thought maybe they'd build in Atlanta soon.
As the evening had gone on, he'd relaxed and begun to enjoy himself. The beers had helped, but mainly it was just being close to Judy that had set his mind at rest for the first time since this whole thing had
"Jeff, how goes it? Who's your lovely young friend?"
Jeff looked blankly at the man's face: glasses, salt-and-pepper beard, wide grin. He looked vaguely familiar, but no more.
"This is Judy Gordon. Judy, ah, I'd like you to meet … "
"Professor Samuels," she said. "My roommate has you for Medieval Lit."
"And her name is—?"
"Paula Hawkins."
The man's grin widened further, and he nodded twice. "Excellent student. Very bright young lady, Paula. I trust my class comes recommended?"
"Oh, yes, sir," Judy said. "Paula's told me all about you."
"Then perhaps we'll be blessed with your own delightful presence in the fall."
"I can't rightly say just yet, Professor Samuels. I haven't really decided on my schedule for next year."
"Drop by my office. We'll discuss it. And you, Jeff: good job on that Chaucer paper, but I had to give you a B for incomplete citations. Watch that next time, will you?"
"Yes, sir. I'll remember."
"Good, good. See you in class." He waved them off, went back to his beer.
When they got to the booth, Judy slid in next to Jeff and started giggling.
"What's so funny?"
"Don't you know about him? Dr. Samuels?"
Jeff hadn't even been able to recall the professor's name.
"No, what about him?"
"He's a dirty old man, that's what. He chases after all the girls in his classes—the cute ones, anyway.
Paula said he put his hand on her thigh one time after class—like this."
She put her girlish fingers on Jeff's leg, rubbed it, and squeezed.
"Can you imagine?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone. "He's, older than my father, even. 'Drop by my office'—huh! I know what he'd want to discuss. Isn't that just the most disgusting thing you ever heard, a man his age acting like that?"
Her hand still rested on Jeff's thigh, an inch or so away from his growing erection. He looked at her innocent round eyes, her sweet red mouth, and had a sudden fantasy of Judy going down on him right there in the booth. Dirty old man, he thought, and laughed.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"You don't believe me about Dr. Samuels, do you?"
"I believe you. No, it's just—you, me, everything. I had to laugh, that's all. What do you want to drink?"
"The regular."
"A triple zombie, right?"
The worried look left her face, and she laughed along with him. "Silly; I want a glass of red wine, just like always. Can't you remember anything tonight?"
Judy's lips against his were as soft as he had imagined, had remembered. The fresh scent of her hair, the youthful smoothness of her skin excited him to a degree he hadn't felt since the early days with Linda, before their marriage. The car windows were down, and Judy rested the back of her head on the cushioned doorframe as Jeff kissed her. Andy Williams was singing "The Days of Wine and Roses" on the radio, and the fragrance of dogwood blossoms mingled with the scent of Judy's soft, clean skin. They were parked on a wooded street a mile or so away from the campus; Judy had directed him there after they'd left the bar.
The conversation tonight had gone better than Jeff had expected. Basically, he'd followed Judy's lead as they talked, let her be the one to mention names and places and events. He'd reacted from memory or the cues he took from her expression and tone of voice. He'd made only one anachronistic slip: They'd been talking about students they knew who were planning to move off campus next year, and Jeff had said he might sublet a condo. She'd never heard the word, but he quickly explained it away as something new from California that he'd read about and thought maybe they'd build in Atlanta soon.
As the evening had gone on, he'd relaxed and begun to enjoy himself. The beers had helped, but mainly it was just being close to Judy that had set his mind at rest for the first time since this whole thing had
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