Three To One, page 25
“Are you kidding me? I’ve never heard of anything so unprofessional-”
Maggie punched the phone screen with a chunky finger and terminated the call. She scrolled through her contacts list and opened a new call.
“Hello, this is Dr. Blumstein. I need to schedule an appointment with Provost Stevens as soon as possible. Please tell her it is about an urgent matter.”
Chris jabbed the icon with his index finger, for the third time in less than twenty-four hours. Dove’s smiling face shrunk down to a tiny dot, the only connection he had with his little girl. And it was failing him, dang-it.
The first message had been sugary sweet.
The second message, eight hours later, had been a bit more assertive, but hopefully not off-putting.
“Hey, Little Bird. Mom and I missed getting to talk to you over the weekend. Just touching base to see how things are going. Please call us and let us know you’re okay, okay? Love you.”
What would be the appropriate tone for a third voice mail?
“Young Lady, you call us this instant.”
No, that would not do. He couldn’t force her to call. He had to coax her. Draw her home with love and understanding. Then find this pervert professor and strangle him. No. Even better, destroy his career. Turn him into a skid-row bum.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Dove? Hey! Is that really you? How are you?”
“I’m fine, Daddy. What’s going on? My phone says you’ve called three times. Is Mom Ok?”
“Yes, your mother is fine. We – well, to be honest, Dove, we have been concerned about how you are.”
“Why? I’m fine, Dad. It was a busy weekend, and I didn’t find time to call. Mid-terms are coming at me, and you know my course load is aggressive.”
“Sure. I understand.” He found himself struggling for words. That never happened to him, and he didn’t like the awkward feeling. “So, you’re sure everything is ok?”
“Yes, Dad. What’s wrong? You don’t sound right.”
“Well… probably nothing. I just wanted to … well. I just wanted to talk to you. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“What’s going on, Dad? This sounds weird. Is everything okay between you and mom? You two haven’t been fighting again, have you?”
He cringed. That brought a load of guilt with it. She had heard more than she should have.
“Dad? You’re scaring me, Dad. Don’t tell me you and mom are having another falling out.”
“No, Dove. That’s not it. Things are fine between Mom and me. We’re worried about you, is all.”
“You keep saying that. Why are you worried about me?”
“Is this a good time to talk? I don’t want to keep you from something important.”
“Dad. Stop it, please. Tell me what’s going on.”
He drew a deep breath. Not exactly the rapport-building opening he had hoped for. He had to be careful, or this could flare up and push her away.
“Dove, you know that your mom and I love you very much…”
“Dad! Just stop, will you? Tell me what’s going on.”
“Who is Professor Faulk?”
“What?”
“Are you having… a relationship with one of your professors?”
“Oh my God, Dad, are you serious?”
“What?”
“Are you seriously all worked up because of Professor Faulk and me?”
“It’s true?”
“Is what true? Good grief, who have you been talking to? I don’t believe this.”
“Now, Dove, hold on a second. Don’t get upset. Your Mom and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Dad, this is completely not okay. You need to get used to the idea that I am a grown woman now.”
“I know, Dove, and I’m trying…”
“And as a grown woman, I must insist that you allow me to make my own decisions.”
“Well, sure, but this is a rather extreme case, and could be serious…”
“Yes, it could be serious. In fact, I hope it is. I’m going to ask you to stay out of it. We have enough people poking their nose into our business, without you and Mom joining in.”
“Dove, please, you must understand why we’d be concerned. I received a call from someone who is worried about you.”
“You got a call? Oh my gosh, that witch! It was that lady from the Ethics Committee, wasn’t it.”
“The Ethics Committee? What about the Ethics Committee?”
“That’s it, Dad. I’m done with this conversation. The reason I haven’t told you about Professor Faulk, is that it isn’t any of your business. And if we get to a point where it is, I’ll let you know.”
“Dove, wait. Try to think clearly.”
“No, you try to think clearly. Professor Faulk is probably the nicest man I’ve ever known, and I am not going to let you or anyone else stand between us. This is my life.”
“Now, hold on, young lady.” Shoot. Should have never said that.
“Don’t use that tone with me, Dad. Not about this. How dare you. You don’t exactly hold any moral high ground when it comes to this topic.”
There it was. She rolled out the nuclear warheads. He tried to think of something he could say, but she interrupted.
“I need some space to live my life. I’ll call you when I’m ready. Good bye.”
“Wait –”
There was a click, and the line went dead. Dammit! Lindy was going to kill him.
Virginia’s rose bushes needed pruning. They had a good year, but it was over. She had taken joy and also pride in seeing the abundant buds appear, then open to impressive blossoms as the summer progressed. She was kneeling in the soil now, pondering the last of the blossoms. One lone straggler, hanging on, maybe only half of its former beauty, bending to the effects of gravity and the cool autumn air. The soil felt damp and cold as she stared, pruning scissors in her hand.
The little garden was usually a place of solace for Virginia. She had enjoyed many hours here, relishing the wonder of nature, as she cooperated with the Creator to produce beauty and life. She looked around at the browning lawn, the drooping plants, the trees being stripped down to a bony nakedness. She reached for the rose and cut her finger on a large thorn, hidden beneath. The pain caused her to utter a curse. She snipped the last blossom and threw it aside. For a moment, she sat there, sucking on the bleeding wound, staring at the wilting blossom dying in the dirt. She dropped the shears and walked into the house.
Upstairs, in her room, she took off her garden hat, kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned the straps of her coveralls, and laid them across the back of a chair. In the corner of her eye, the mirror caught her attention. She turned and saw her full-length reflection, the rounded bottom of her work shirt barely covering her undies. Her hair was clipped up, a thick muss. Her hands, her knees, her face were smudged with dark soil. It stopped her. She remembered the wilting rose.
Virginia began to cry and went to kneel by her bed. In silence, she prayed as she wept, squeezing her soiled hands tightly together, pressing against her forehead. After a long time, no more tears would come. She was exhausted, physically, and emotionally. She breathed in choppy sniffs, aware of the utter stillness in the room, and within her. She got up, and walked with a tired slouch, to put on sweatpants. As she crossed the room, she saw that mirror again. She swept up a perfume bottle and shattered the reflection with an angry throw.
October 13
Friday evening, Father John was window shopping along Washington, the stores long closed. He had no destination, he was just putting in a couple miles for exercise, to clear his head. He preferred to do his walking late, when there were no crowds, and no chance of being approached by a salesperson. He didn't need the stores to be open, because he knew he wasn’t going to buy anything. He was just looking. In the sky above, a few stars were twinkling, those strong enough to compete with a waxing crescent moon, and light from the city. He was staring in the window of a jewelry store. There were cufflinks, some necklaces, and several different styles of his and hers wedding rings. In the glass, John caught the reflection of a young woman on the corner at the end of the block. With her back side toward him, she was loitering, watching the traffic on the cross street. Clearly visible under a streetlight, she was dressed up like she was waiting for a date. The look was overdone, gaudy and tacky. The only thing the elements of the ensemble had in common was that each piece barely covered her, and they were fitted tightly to the form of the young woman. John looked away.
He glanced at the cuff links, then went back to the wedding bands. Some were traditional, gold, silver, diamonds, others were more modern. Platinum was nice. But he also liked the dark black material. It looked like graphite, or maybe carbon fiber. He wondered what it was. The sacrament of marriage was so elevated, it hardly seemed necessary to dress it up with precious metals. Better to just live a holy, sacramental life, and let the marriage speak for itself.
He heard a high-pitched giggle and looked at the reflection again. She was bent over, talking into the window of a long dark car. She was angled so that the back part of her super short mini skirt was clearly reflected in the window. John frowned and forced himself to look away. It was time to go home. He had already walked over a mile, and rounded the block. Now he needed to continue North toward home, and complete his loop. Unfortunately, to do that, he would have to walk in the direction of the young woman. She was otherwise occupied. It would be okay.
As he started walking, the car pulled off, and the girl looked around. She spotted John. He looked away and increased the speed of his walk. She headed across the street, diagonally, clearly intending to intercept his path. John reprimanded himself for being in this potentially compromising position. She stepped up onto the curb ahead. He gritted his teeth. It would be ok. He was only out doing a little window shopping.
“Hello, handsome,” she said. He should have worn his clerical collar.
“Good evening, Miss.”
“What’s your hurry?” she asked, playfully matching his stride.
“I am late for an appointment,” he said. She stepped in front of him and stopped. He had to stop also, or he would have run into her. She stood with her breasts well inside of his personal space, engaging him with her eyes.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, smiling.
“Excuse me?”
“Listen, I know a lonely man when I see one. I don’t think you’re late, I think you’re chickening out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You already said that. You’re excused.” She smiled a playful smile and stepped even closer, breasts only inches from him. She gently touched her fingertips to his lapel. He froze inside.
“Listen, gorgeous,” she said, “You don’t have to be lonely tonight. I can help you through it.”
“I – I’m not lonely,” he insisted.
“Sugar, its okay, really. This is something that can totally happen. It’s so simple. It can be nice. Look around. There’s nobody here but you and me. Nobody would ever have to know.”
John tried to push past her, she got in front of him again.
“Baby, trust me," she said, her voice dropping to an intimate level. "You don’t want to miss this. Why not let yourself have this one small pleasure? You deserve it. Don’t be so uptight.”
“Listen, I’ve really got to go,” John said. He stepped around her.
“Going once, going twice,” she said playfully, matching his stride.
“Please don’t take any offense,” he said, and kept walking. She giggled again.
“Come up with me and we can just talk. I won’t bite." She was kind of skipping along beside him, almost like a little girl, then nudged him with her shoulder, and put her hand on him. "Unless you want me to.”
“No, I can’t.”
"Come on. Let's just hang out for a little while."
"I'm sorry, no."
“Baby, you will never know what you missed.” She pulled on his shoulder hard enough to turn him toward her, gave him a direct look so seductive that it stopped him. He had to shake his head to break her spell.
“You don’t understand, Miss. I am a priest. I have taken vows. I’m Sorry. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“A priest?” She stepped back, a look of distaste. “Screw you. You sicko, I know you want it. And something else? You’re gonna remember me later.”
John kept walking.
“You should have just said you weren’t into women!” Shouting after him.
John kept walking, not looking back at her.
“I bet you prefer little boys!” she shouted. “Freak!”
John felt sick to his stomach. Sick for himself, and for her. It made him sad that life had broken her down to the point that she would offer herself as a commodity to be bought and sold, and he felt terrible for having allowed himself to circle that flame so closely.
For the first time, he realized how precarious was his condition.
“Mr. Yamamoto, I hope the bungalows meet with your approval.”
“They’re perfect, Falakiko. I like the way you’ve nestled them into the edge of the tree line, without impacting the forest. And you’ve spaced them far enough apart that everyone has privacy, without anyone having to walk far from the main pavilion. I also like the way you’ve utilized the shape of the tree line and placed the windows so that nobody can readily see the bungalow next to them. Everyone will have a sense that they are alone on the beach, with the whole Pacific to themselves. Very nicely done.”
“Thank you, sir. We worked hard to accommodate your wishes.”
“Excellent. You’ve done well. Now, if you don’t mind, could I have a moment alone with Amy?”
“Yes sir. I have to check in with the men working to finish the main fire pit.”
“Thank you.” He watched as Falakiko moved back toward the newly constructed pavilion, and then turned to his entertainment director.
“Amy, I’m trusting you to have the fire jugglers, musicians and dancers taken care of. Let’s spend our time today running down the party menu, shall we? Remember I want every night to be a big party. You have plenty of alcohol?”
“An abundance, and a wide selection.”
“Good. I also want a variety of party options available for those who would like to indulge in something… in addition to alcohol. You know, provide people with options. Do you have all that covered?”
"I do."
"I don't want money changing hands. Just have the escorts sharing generously with our guests, okay?"
“Yes sir. Taken care of.”
“Good. Now, Amy, I want to speak with you about a matter of some sensitivity.”
“Sure, Mr. Yamamoto.”
“Let’s take a walk on the beach, shall we?”
They strolled along the beach, enjoying the pacific breeze on their face, and the white sugar sand between their toes. After about a quarter mile, they came to a place where the island shore swooped inward in a half-circle, creating a small cove. There were no bungalows here. This location was natural, pristine. The water was calm. Fifty yards off shore, the surf was breaking in spectacular spray, against a coral reef.
“Isn’t this a lovely spot?” he asked. The water was so clear, you could see the bottom.
“It is. Divine.”
Haruki turned and looked at the tree line. “I would like you to hire a security vendor to install motion-capture cameras there, there and there, so that we have views of the cove from three different angles. I want them to be placed about nine feet above the ground, pointing down into the water."
"Okay…"
"I’ll text you with the make and model of camera. They are high-resolution cameras, powered by solar panels. They auto adjust for white balance and light sensitivity, full color, high-speed video with slow motion capability.”
“Wow. Sounds expensive."
"I would like both the panels and the cameras to be painted to blend in with the foliage."
"I guess I could get somebody to do that. Do you mind my asking why?”
“Let’s just say I’d like to have some souvenir video of this week on the island.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.”
“I would like for the professional escorts to invite our guests, one at a time, to stroll down the beach to this cove. The average water temperature here is eighty degrees. Sounds perfect for swimming in the nude, don’t you think?”
“Oh, Mr. Haruki, you are a sneaky one.” She smiled at him and stroked his arm affectionately.
“And I want you to let your escorts know, there is a bonus if they manage to capture footage that is … let us say, intimate, and sensational.”
“That makes this gig so much more fun. How much is the bonus?”
“Five hundred dollars for each individual performance. Seven-fifty if they perform with someone who is married, or otherwise committed. And that is on top of their usual escort fees.”
“The guys and girls are going to love this. Should we do a dress rehearsal, test out the water?”
He smiled at her. “I like how you think, but I am afraid I don’t have time today. Be sure the escorts understand that they are not to let any of my employees know they are being filmed. That would spoil the surprise.”
October 14
Five days, a little more than an eternity after Peregrine had first confided with her about the situation with the street kid, Loretta finally called to ask for a follow up meeting. Thank God. He was about to go crazy. She said she had been trying to work up a hypothesis.
“Peregrine, do you want to try one of the tables outside? It seems claustrophobic in here to me.”
“Sure, Loretta. Fresh air would probably do me good.” He could care less where they sat, he wanted to hear what she had to say.
The table she selected had an umbrella casting a long shadow cross the pavers of the plaza. The sun glowing through a dense filter of atmosphere, was creating interesting colors in the sky. Temperatures were mild for this time of year, the street filling up with vehicles leaving the campus, heading out to their homes. Pedestrians passed by, talking about after-hours concerns and interests. Peregrine was drinking tea, too late in the day for his usual stout coffee. He sipped, thinking about words. Foreboding. A strong inner feeling of impending misfortune, or something like that. He was filled with it.
