He waded into the party. He did not see Dr. Evergreen or his wife. He felt awkward and wished he'd waited for Penny so he would have had someone to talk to. He zigzagged his way to the wine table, grabbed a random jug of red, and filled a plastic cup. He tasted it. Good. He read the label on the giant jug. Three Thieves' Red. Horse-riding desperados adorned the label, pistols in the air. Allen had had Dr. Evergreen pegged as too pretentious for jug wine, but maybe he had the guy all wrong. Maybe this would all be okay after all.
Allen accidentally bumped someone behind him. Purple wine spilled over his knuckles.
"Watch it, douche bag."
Allen mumbled an apology, then saw it was Kurt Ramis, one of the testosterone-driven fiction writers from the MFA program. He wore a leather bomber jacket with a patch representing a fictional squadron. Shoulder-length, auburn hair carefully arranged to seem windblown, square jaw. Kurt thought he was the next Hemmingway; most of his fiction involved shooting large animals and getting laid.
"Hey, don't sweat it," Kurt said. "How's the Jane Austen studies coming? They fit you for a dress yet?"
"You're hilarious. And it's the Brontë sisters."
The two girls on either side of Kurt giggled, but one of them said, "Be nice."
"Whatever. Come on, ladies, and sit with me in the gazebo. I'll tell you about the novel I'm working on. A rugged game hunter must guide a spoiled heiress through the Alaskan wilderness. It's got bestseller written all over it."
Asshole.
Allen decided to leave. To hell with it.
He stopped, spotted Penny emerging from the sliding glass doors in the rear of Evergreen's house. She wore a black cocktail dress, the modest V of her neckline showing a hint of healthy pink skin. She was rosy-cheeked; hair done up and back. Allen was impressed. Penny actually looked like a girl. She was almost pretty.
She saw him, and her smile widened bright and white. She skipped over to Allen.
"You look good," he said.
"You think?" She did a little half spin. "I've had this dress for a while but not an excuse to wear it. Have you talked to Dr. Evergreen yet?"
"I haven't seen him. I was just getting ready to leave."
"Oh, don't do that. I just got here."
"I can stay another few minutes, I guess."
She smiled, and Allen did too. When she smiles like that, she is pretty, I guess.
He shuffled awkwardly, suddenly found it not so easy to talk to her.
"I could use some wine," she said gently.
"Oh, yeah. Okay. Let me get it."
He wriggled his way through the crowd back to the table, refilled his plastic cup with Three Thieves' Red, and filled a new one for Penny. He felt like he was at senior prom. Nervous. Snap out of it. It's just Penny. Good old pal Penny.
He brought the wine back, handed her a cup. They stood, drank. He put his free hand in his pocket, shuffled his feet. The party ebbed and flowed around them.
"This is good wine," she said.
"Yes." He looked at her, looked away again.
She moved in closer to him, surreptitiously pointed with her pinky at a young girl in denim across the party, and whispered in Allen's ear, "She's in my poetry workshop and wrote a poem about a professor she has a crush on. You don't think it's Dr. Evergreen, do you?"
He snorted laughter, covered his mouth. They huddled together, whispering a game guessing the life stories of the other party guests based on how they looked. They laughed, and it was easy. This was good old Penny. Everything was right again.
"That girl in the thrift-store dress is creepy," Penny said. "I heard her boyfriend dumped her and she just started cutting her leg with a kitchen knife. Just sat there, sawing bloody lines into her thigh."
Speaking of creepy... "Have you ever met Dr. Evergreen's wife?" Allen asked.
Penny shook her head. "But I've seen her with Dr. Evergreen at parties and readings. She looked beautiful, but sort of distant. You've met her?"
"Briefly."
"What's she like?"
"I'm not really sure," Allen said. He found he could hardly remember her face. "She's light on her feet, I know that."
Penny grinned. "What the heck does that mean?"
Allen started to explain when the hysterical woman found them.
"Oh, my God, Penny, you are not going to believe it." The new girl was petite, with sharp features, short black hair, a plaid skirt, and stylish white blouse. Pearls. Allen had seen her around the department and thought of her as Back East pretty. Red eyes. Tears had smeared her makeup. She swallowed great, heaving sobs between words.
She latched onto Penny. People stared openly.
"Calm down, Blanche," Penny patted her friend on the shoulder. "Let's go this way. Come on, honey."
Penny led Blanche away from the gawkers, around the side of the house and under a low tree. Not knowing what else to do, Allen followed.
"Now, take a breath." Penny held her friend by the forearms, looked her square in the eyes.
"It's K-Kurt," Blanche said. "I s-saw him kissing that skank Missy Logan in the woods next to Dr. Evergreen's house."
Penny frowned, shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Blanche. I warned you about him."
"Missy f-fucking Logan," spat Blanche. "She's a cow! Why would he-" Her words were lost in a new torrent of wailing and hand-wringing.
"I didn't see him with Missy earlier," Allen said. "He was with two other women."
Blanche wailed even louder, then threw herself onto Penny's shoulder, tears and snot flowing freely. Penny patted her friend's back and shot an accusing look at Allen.
Allen shrugged. "I'm just saying-"
"Well, don't," Penny said.
Allen mouthed, "Sorry." Then he took a step back.
"I've a good mind to find that boy and chew his ass right off," Penny said. "Blanche, honey, stay here and pull yourself together. There's a lot of people at this party, and you don't want to give that rat-fuck Kurt the satisfaction."
Blanche sobbed and nodded.
"Allen, stay with Blanche."
"Me? But-"
"Stay!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Hold this." Penny handed Allen her wine, stalked off, her fists clenched in righteous woman rage.
Allen looked at Blanche and cleared his throat. "That Kurt guy. He's an asshole, you know? You're better off without him."
Blanche sniffed.
"Uh... can I get you a drink or something?"
Blanche nodded, sniffed again.
"Okay. Stay put. I'll be right back."
Allen found the Thieves again, filled another plastic cup. Might as well top off his own drink and Penny's. He drained the jug.
Two hands. Three cups. He gathered them into an awkward triangle, tried to walk, spilling purple over his hands. He slowed his walk, hunching over, balancing the wine. He looked at the wine as he walked, so deep and dark, like fresh blood. The blood of thieves.
He wasn't watching where he was going and crashed into someone, knocking all three cups of wine down his front, staining his shirt and pants. He gasped at the splash of liquid, bit back a string of vulgarities.
He stepped back, looked at the bearlike figure before him.
"Jesus Christ, kid. You smell like a Napa Valley wino."
Allen gulped. "Sorry, Dr. Evergreen. I hope I didn't get any on you."
THREE
Allen came out of the first-floor bathroom, holding up a pair of Dr. Evergreen's Portland Trailblazers sweatpants with one hand, his wine-stained clothes bunched in the other. He swam in an extra-extra-large Gothic State T-shirt, also Dr. Evergreen's. It was like wearing a circus tent.
Dr. Forest Evergreen was lumberjack big, Paul Bunyan-ish, barrel-chested, chin the size of an engine block.
Allen went from the bathroom to the kitchen. All modern stainless steel and computerized appliances. His eyeballs ping-ponged back and forth. Tentative. Where to go next? "Dr. Evergreen?"
A voice from down the hall. "This way."
Allen went down the hall, past closed doors toward the end, where a half-open door spilled dim light into the hallway. He paused again.
"Get in here."
Allen started, went inside.
Dr. Evergreen's study was the complete opposite of his modern kitchen. It felt old, ancient in fact, like some old wizard's workroom from a bad Dungeons & Dragons movie. Very old, leather-bound books lined the shelves. Strange, arcane charts and graphs hung on the walls, and a large globe of the world during the Victorian Empire stood in one corner. Behind Ever-green's desk hung a yellowing chart, a detailed schematic of the human skeleton. The desk itself was big enough to match Evergreen-darkly polished wood with the nicks and scratches of centuries. Evergreen sat at the desk, a tumbler of amber liquid in one meaty fist. The half-glasses perched at the end of his nose looked small compared to his massive pumpkin head, like they'd been ripped off a doll.
Evergreen hunched over the desk, reading from a brochure without looking up. "'Imbued with old-world charm, this spacious apartment overlooks the fields and trees of Letna Park. Mere steps to the closest tram line, charming pubs, and a variety of restaurants.'" Evergreen looked over the glasses at Allen. "What do you think?"
"What is it?"
"An apartment in Prague."
"Oh. Sounds good. I'm sure I won't have a problem."
"Not for you, pinhead. For me. I've arranged some dorm space for you."
"Okay."
"You're not going to spill red wine all over the Czech Republic, are you?"
"I'm really sorry, Dr. Evergreen. I'm not usually that clumsy, and-"
Evergreen motioned to the chair across from him. "Sit."
Allen sat.
"You know what I expect of you?"
"I think," Allen said. "I spoke to Professor Carpenter."
"Uh-huh. And what did ganja-head say?"
"That I'd be helping you with research. Something with Kafka."
"Yeah, that's the story, but I've got something a lot more important for you to work on. A real challenge for your research skills."
"Oh?"
"I'm getting a grant from the university for the trip, so it has to be some lit thing. I've basically written it already. But frankly, I have more important things to work on. Are we clear?"
"No."
"Don't worry, I'll fill you in later," Evergreen said. "Stop looking like that."
"Like what?"
"Like somebody pissed down your back. Don't worry. It'll be fine."
"If you can give me some kind of idea what I'll be researching, maybe I can get started right away," Allen suggested. "Get a head start."
"Save it for later. Think of it like a scavenger hunt. It'll be fun. You'll see."
FOUR
Allen went back out to the party and marched straight for the wine. He was in for a long semester. And a long summer. He gulped the wine, refilled the cup. Maybe he'd make himself drunk. Why not?
Penny planted herself in front of him. "Where the hell have you been? I told you to stay with Blanche. Why are you dressed like that?"
"I don't have time to babysit your distraught friends. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not having a very good time."
"Just tell her I'm looking for her if you see her."
"Where are you going?"
"Into those woods," Penny said. "If I know Blanche, she'll go in there and try to catch Kurt making out with whatever skank is next on his to-do list."
"The woods? Don't go into the woods," Allen said.
"Why not?"
"Because it's... the woods."
"If I see the big bad wolf, I'll point him toward Grandma's house."
"Just yell if you need any help."
Penny rolled her eyes and left.
Allen sipped wine. The party came and went around him. Dull.
"I hope you don't mind if I introduce myself."
Allen looked up from his wine, raised an eyebrow.
The man who had addressed him was a priest-black suit, white collar. Tall and athletic, late thirties or early forties. His hair was a deep black and just over his ears. Blue eyes. Crow's-feet. But a bright, energetic smile. He shook Allen's hand firmly.
"Father?"
"I'm Father Laramie," said the priest, "but I hope you'll call me Paul."
"Father Paul."
"Just Paul."
"Okay."
"Penny tells me you're Catholic," said Father Paul. "I didn't know if you were aware we held a Wednesday mass in the chapel on campus."
"Ah." Allen took a swig of wine to buy himself a second. He'd mentioned to Penny that he'd been brought up Catholic, but he hadn't attended mass in years. He had not even realized Gothic State had an on-campus chapel. How long since his last confession? Well, really, what did Allen have to confess?
This thought depressed him somewhat.
"I'm hoping I can convince you to come around and see us sometime," Father Paul said. "I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't encourage you a little."
"Uh."
