Chapter 1

The claxon horn added to the madhouse announcing the arrival of the bags from flight 2302. I decided to avoid the pushing and shoving to be first to claim my bag—after all, I wasn't late for an appointment with the president and I didn't want anyone dropping their bag on my feet again. So, while listening to the clamor, I enjoyed the aroma of turbine exhaust that took me back to my time in the Navy.

As I sat in relative comfort waiting for the crowd to clear, there Pat stood watching each bag go by as she searched for hers. Sort of like looking for one's children as they erupted from school. The right bag or child has to be in that mess somewhere. Pat. God dam Pat. She charmed the search committee into hiring her but she was not a good choice for the future of the department. Even worse, because of her excellent record, they offered her a one-year tenure option. Shit. Remember what Kissinger said. "University politics are so vicious because the stakes are so trivial."

Although she had been hired over my strenuous objections, the 'academic code' obliged me to accept her as a colleague and be civilized in my interactions with her. OK, I once took a course in play-acting and I must admit I called upon my teachings on more than one occasion when dealing with her.

She watched the carousel present bags to others as I watched her from behind. As a woman, she looked great. Nice fitting jeans, black turtleneck, high heels, and a leather waist-length jacket. Straight from behind, I could see light through the inverted isosceles triangle created beneath her crotch and between her thighs when she faced directly away. The form-fitting jeans curved nicely around each cheek leaving little to the imagination. Hey, if you've got it... ! Her eyes had just a few wrinkles indicating to me that she had seen many interesting sights. Her smile could melt the icecap and she wasn't even illegal. At home, she smiled at me once in a while, but I was impervious. I imagined her in the viewfinder of my camera, tossing her long brown hair around her shoulders, even having her breasts exposed. Few men could resist feasting their eyes on her, regardless of what she was doing, unless, of course, they were into starlet gazing and she was more woman than those.

The noise of the carousel and the public address system, combined with the unpleasant roar of passenger conversation finally caused me to seek an immediate exit. Just as she found her bag, I found mine and greeted her 'warmly.' "Hey, Pat. Would you like to share a cab ride to the hotel? It costs $5 more than two tickets on the bus, but it is a lot more comfortable."

Her smile seemed genuine, although I knew that she knew my resentment toward her. Her long brown hair swirled around her face as she spun around to look at me. "OK. That makes a lot of sense to me, Blevin. Don't need more hassle today."

After a few minutes of 'relaxing' on the Bayshore freeway, she said, "I'm surprised by your offer. Thank you. I know that you do not like me."

I pondered my answer, sexist pig that I am, and said gently, "Pat, I don't know you well enough to dislike you. I voted against you because I thought the future of the department required a scholar with a different orientation."

She was silent. I went on, "Being a woman, I knew that you would dislike me for voting against you and it would become a big personal thing."

"You are truly a sexist bastard!"

"I have tried a long time to overcome that but right now it would be in our best interest to rid ourselves of our past ideas, learn the PC rituals and comply." I was getting into my deepest grudge. "Let me just tell you something, Pat, I do not dislike you. I did not care who you were as a person. I wanted to fill that position with an experimentalist. There was a damn fine woman experimentalist on the short list."

She came back quickly, "That woman—that experimentalist—is a fraud. There is ample evidence that she faked data for her dissertation so that she could confirm her major professor's hypothesis. We women have a superb 'back-channel' communications loop."

"Pat, I am taking you as a scholar of honor and I am prepared to believe what you say. I hope you are truthful. How do you know?"

There was this long, silent pause. "Blevin, when I trust you, I will tell you. I know that you are a hard-nose, and I will expect total confidentiality. I don't ordinarily trust men. You were absolutely truthful with me and I may come to trust you."

"It isn't important. You already have the job. We can be civilized."

We had both picked an economy hotel outside the constant bustle of the professional meeting in the Hilton. I felt it mildly unusual that she picked the same one, although it was featured right there on the Internet site.

"Pat, I'll pay for the cab going in. Since we have the same flight returning, you get the one going home. OK?"

"Works with me."

We arrived at the hotel entrance façade and I started to pay the cabbie. I could not find my wallet--no money. I went through all my jacket pockets and pants and looked in my laptop case. There was no money or wallet to be found as the cabbie waited impatiently and I stood there perplexed.

"Uhh, Pat, I lost my wallet. Could we switch and you pay now and I will pay later?"

She smiled, "Oh, my check is in the mail? That's fine. I barely have enough cash, but I can get to an ATM later."

I was in deep trouble. Without my wallet I had no credit card to check in. Got the picture? Pat went to the desk and quickly obtained a room. As she walked across the lobby, she saw me with my head down and obviously in distress. "OK, what's up?"

"I am homeless. I can't get in without a credit card and I can't get a credit card until FedEx brings it in the morning. I don't know where I lost my wallet, but I don't even have an ATM card. I'm going to go over to the meeting and see if I can hit up one of my chums."

"Blevin, by accident or whatever, they gave me a nice room with two large beds. You are welcome to share. In any event, bring your computer up and get online to cancel all your cards."

"You are most gracious, Pat, but I couldn't accept."

"OK, let me see here. If I were your colleague, Dick Foster, would you share a room with him under the circumstances?"

"Uhm, I guess you are right. I am a latent sexist."

"Not so latent, I think, but come on up. Oh, I had a male roommate in college and we got along fine after we settled in. Don't worry."

She was gracious in her hospitality. We quickly organized the large bathroom counter and the luggage spots and I got on the Internet furiously to solve my identity problem. Being penniless in San Francisco gives one a glimpse into how the other half lives. I don't want to know more. Within minutes, American Express said they would have a card to me, either by courier or FedEx in the morning. At least, I could eat and pay my hotel bill.

After we changed clothes and freshened up, she said wryly, "I know that you were planning to take me out to a lavish dinner to show your gratitude, but I do have other plans. I made sure that the hotel would give you room service so that you could eat, if necessary."

Although I do not yet like her, in all fairness, she is physically attractive. She turns heads. She behaved graciously. "Thank you. That is most trusting and considerate."

I had a productive evening on the computer tuning up my presentation and making it nicer. I had good room service and a decent meal that I could eat at the table. Not what I would have chosen, but pretty good for luck. I realized that it was now about ten and the meetings were over. The minglers would be cruising the lobby of the Hilton. It was time to seek adult company.

Then I realized it—no key. I didn't have a key to my room. I was a prisoner. If I went out, I'd have to knock for Pat when I got home. Just then, I heard giggling and muted conversation outside the door. On a whim, I went to open it and look out at the graduate students who were making noise in the hall. There, I also found Pat with her mouth on another fellow seeming to enjoy her situation.

I caught her eye and whispered, "Key?"

Without looking up, she found her spare keycard and put it in my hand. I signaled "2 hours?" and she nodded, never leaving the lips of her suitor.

Wow! I had at least two hours to go seeking entertainment from the minglers. I had been through a long dry spell and looked forward to finding someone interesting who had her own room. They were all bright as hell, but some of them were much more interesting than others. That's what I sought in the impressive halls of the large Hilton.

You lose your money and credit cards in the morning, a colleague saves your ass, and there, walking down the hall alone was Barbara. As usual, dressed to the teeth in her four-inch heels and revealing black dress with side-slits. Her cleavage was exactly right, accenting the superb shape of her breasts. She was the same old Barbara with longer blond hair. Although we had been divorced for several years, she could still get a rise out of me and make my heart race with her smile. I know she had on colored contacts to brighten her blue eyes and as usual, I was sinking into them with my gut fluttering.

She put her hand on my arm and smiled, "Buy me a drink, Blevin?"

"I'll buy you the Golden Gate Bridge, too?"

"Just one?"

"Barbara, love, I have no money. I lost my wallet and credit cards. Were it not for the kindness of a colleague, I would be sleeping on the street."

She laughed at my hopeless plight. "You will not, by God, sleep on the street. You will sleep with me and if you are any good at all, I will feed you."

"OK, now I know what I am and we're just quibbling about price! I know you don't believe me. Here, feel in my pockets."

"You are a perverted son-of-a-bitch." Then, she stood very close and felt my back pocket, then my front pocket and all she found was a BART ticket left over from a previous trip. She also gave me a nice squeeze in the right place to get my attention. Ah, the same perfume.

"You still have a nice touch and you smell familiar!"

"Come with me. We'll get a drink in my room."

With that, I let her lead me to the elevator and what I hoped would be an interesting night.

Barbara often brought out the best in both of us and we managed to give each other fantastic pleasure—just like the old days. Sometimes, I wondered why I left her. Yeah, sucker, she left you for a job out west and you just let her go. Although we were divorced and living thousands of miles apart, these impediments did not prevent our occasional sexual adventures at professional meetings or sometimes mutually agreed assignations in interesting places. We had an arrangement in which we could have sexual encounters if we chose, so long as neither of us was committed to someone else. Although we were legally divorced, neither of us had yet found a suitable replacement. She seemed as delighted to see me, as I was to see her.

She showed her class and mixed our drinks from the minibar without having to ask. She took out some crackers and cheese and made a little party for us. She sat on her feet on the sofa and melted me with her smile, "Where did you lose it?" Then she caught the stupidity of the question and laughed. "Yeah, I know. Even you are smart enough to go get it if you knew."

I laughed. She leaned over showing me the great cleavage I had seen many times before but never tired of seeing and held her face for a kiss. I was lost in her smile and presence. She had this way of kissing that went on and on and she always murmured these little soft sounds like "Ummmmm," that continued until she was worked up.