His Favorite Girl (17 page)

─Scoping It Out─

WE ARRIVED in Berkeley after nightfall.  Patton checked us into a hotel within walking distance of campus, and before we even took our bags to our room we went to the bar to have a drink, which quickly turned into three our four.

I ordered an appetizer sampler with buffalo popcorn chicken, onion rings, mozzarella sticks, and cheesy potato wedges.  Sports bar food, but it was actually really good.  All hand-made, not pulled out of a freezer.

I felt pretty tipsy when we got to our room, so I threw my suitcase on the bed and stepped out onto the balcony while Patton poured us each a glass of wine using the complimentary Styrofoam coffee cups next to the sink.

It felt wonderful out here, the cool, salty breeze, the soft cushioned chair.  The balcony faced campus, where the tall clock tower was bathed in golden lights--the same lighting used in Flora's display in the Showcase Hall.

Patton appeared with the wine and sat opposite me at the small table.  We drank the bottle in no time, making small talk about how beautiful the town was, the old-fashioned town square feel, the old trees.

I fell asleep in the chair.  Patton woke me and led me to the bed, where I passed out instantly.

In the morning we had breakfast and then walked around town for a while, spending some time on campus but mostly exploring the various shops, department stores, coffee houses, and bars.  Patton treated me to anything I wanted, and by early afternoon I felt like a glutton.  I'd had several glasses of wine, a few mixed drinks, a beer from a local brewer, a latte, a piece of chocolate and caramel cheesecake, and even a few puffs off a very tiny and very expensive pack of cigars Patton picked up at a tobacco shop.

He tried to take me shopping a few times, but I refused.  I could have anything I wanted back at the company, and I didn't want either of us to have to lug bags around.

This was the first day of the trip that I was actually enjoying myself.  I started to feel strange, nostalgic in a way but not really.  Something different.  I wanted to live here, to be someone else, to have never existed as Melissa Reed.  Maybe a girl who went to business school and opened up a bakery.  Or an artist who waited tables to make ends meet between commission work and gallery showings.

In the early evening, we walked down to the place where we would be meeting the professor tomorrow.  It was a pizzeria
in an old-fashioned building where customers designed their own artisan pizzas, which were then baked in an imported wood-burning oven and ready in three minutes.  The interior looked new, clean, and modern: thick granite bar top with black cushioned stools on a freshly waxed hardwood floor.  Behind us, matching black tables ran alongside a gray brick wall decorated with soft, vertical lighting.

Neither of us was hungry, so we just sat at the bar and tried a few local wines and beers.

"I feel like we're going to assassinate this guy tomorrow, the way we're scoping the place out," I said, surveying the near-empty restaurant.

"Offering him a job with us isn't far from it."

"Why don't we just skip the interview and tell Brian the guy said no?"

"He won't believe us."

"Why not?"

"Because Mr.
Harding won't say no.  Not with the money we're offering."

"How much?"

"Way more than he makes teaching."

"Tell me."

"Five-hundred thousand a year."

"Jesus, did Judy make that much?"

"No.  Not even close."

"Then why are they making that kind of offer?"

"Beats me," Patton said.  "To attract someone quickly, I guess.  I've been wondering about it myself."

To mak
e sure Mr. Harding agreed to the interview.  To make sure Patton left the state.

Big flat-screen TVs hung above the bar and on some of the walls, all of them playing the same muted basketball game.  A few stools down, two college-age guys clutched beer mugs and stared intently, speaking in low voices about the nuances of the game.  Pure gibberish to me, as I knew nothing of sports.

I was getting bored.

"Can we go?"

"Where?"

"Back to the hotel.  I'm tired."

"Sure baby."

Ugh.

It had been a long day of walking.  More walking than I'd done since my days of stalking Ted up and down my neighborhood.  I wanted to lie on a bed, ideally with Flora snuggled up next to me and in some alternate reality where I didn't have an axe hanging over my head.

Patton walked me back to the hotel and I immediately plopped down on the bed.

"I thought we'd go to the beach or take a trip over to San Francisco," Patton said.

I groaned loudly into my pillow, kicking my feet like a child.

Patton laughed.  "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm tired!" I cried.  "I'm half-drunk
, I ate too much, I don't want to go back to Indianapolis, I want Flora--I hate everything!"

"Do you hate me?"

"Yes!"

"Will you hate me even more if I get in the hot tub?"

I flipped over and propped my head up with my hand, elbow on the pillow.

"Go ahead," I said, staring at him.

"Okay."

He turned on the water, loosening his tie as he adjusted the heat level, and then he stripped naked.

"Sure you don't want to get in?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I said.  "I've decided to be an all-out lesbian.  I hate men."

"Don't blame you," he said.

"Men are ugly."

"I agree."

"All those muscles.  You look like you belong in a meat locker."

He laughed heartily, stepping into the steamy water.  I stared at his ass, which for some reason looked funny to me, but I held back my own laughter so I could continue spewing hateful bullshit.

"It sure feels great in here," he said.

"Jack off then."

"Maybe I will.  Why don't you take your clothes off and inspire me?"

"Fucking pervert."

"Didn't you bang me in the middle of the road yesterday?"

"So?"

"So you're the pervert."

"You liked it, didn't you?"

"Of course.  But I'm not the one who showed my tits to a bunch of random guys."

"Maybe I'm a slut and you just didn't know it."

He moved over to the edge of the tub and put his chin on his hands.  "Prove it."

I sighed and fell over on my back unbuttoning my jeans and pulling them off, underwear and all.  Sitting up, I ripped off my shirt, undid my bra, and then climbed off the bed.

Patton raised his head, anticipating me coming to him, but instead I went out to the balcony.

"Melissa!  People can see you!"

I ignored him, stepping through the sliding glass door
and walking over to the rail, holding it with both hands.  The heat of the sun with the cool of the breeze on my breasts--there's no more pleasant a feeling the weather can generate, other than walking naked in the rain.

I heard the splash of Patton getting out of the tub, and then next thing I knew his wet body was pressed up against my back, his dick pressed against my lower back, his big arms wrapped around my chest, covering me.

"Get your ass inside," he said with a threatening tone.  He spun me around and pushed me, smacking me hard on the ass.

I went along, deligh
ted to be back in the cold room but a little unsure how serious he was being.  I enjoyed a little playful domination, but I didn't enjoy being bossed around.

"You told me to prove I'm a slut."

He pushed me down on the bed, then grabbed me by the hips and pulled me back so my ass hung over the edge.  I just lay there, too tired to even decide whether or not I wanted to struggle.  The comforter felt soft on my face.  I inhaled the sweet fragrance of some high-dollar laundry detergent and closed my eyes, picturing Flora naked and wrapped in flowery vines.

Patton entered me with ease, pushing as deep as he could go.  I was more eager for him than I'd thought.

As he pounded away to the rhythm of the headboard knocking against the wall, I bit down on the comforter, grabbing at it with both hands and pulling, like someone hanging off the side of a cliff, clinging desperately to clumps of grass.  Occasionally a breeze wafted in through the open balcony door, cooling my sweaty skin, revitalizing me just enough to keep me focused on the moment.

Meanwhile I reached out across the bed, grabbing the comforter and pulling, grabbing and pulling, hoping to catch a smooth, thin ankle or a soft breast, maybe a strand of vibrant blonde hair.

I pulled on the blanket until it was all bunched up underneath me and there was nothing else to grab.

─
Breaking News─

WEDNESDAY.  IT'S
Wednesday!

We wouldn't be checking out of the hotel until tomorrow morning, so I could have slept in as long as I wanted, but by eight a.m. I was fully awake, reciting the word "Wednesday" in my mind as though it were my m
antra.

This was the first tim
e on the whole trip I'd woken up before Patton, so I made coffee and sat out on the balcony for a while, naked but wrapped in a sheet, glaring at the clock tower, resenting its mocking presence.

The coffee only came with two tiny sugar packets.  Not nearly enough for me, so I went inside and quietly ordered room service: pancakes, bacon, milk, and orange juice, with a bowl of sugar on the side.

When they knocked, I took Patton's wallet from his pants as he stirred in the bed nearby and pulled out a ten to tip the young delivery boy who wheeled in the cart.

He reminded me of Pete.  Red hair, skinny, bashful-looking.  He seemed afraid when he saw I wasn't wearing anything--you could probably see my nipples through the sheet, too--but I gave him a warm smile and handed over the ten.  He walked away with an awkward g
ait that gave away his erection, leaving me to wonder if this hotel had a Kate to torment the poor boy.

"Breakfast in bed?" Patton grumbled.

"You wish," I said, plopping down at the table and forking pancakes onto a plate.  As Patton climbed out of bed, I downed a full glass of orange juice and doused my pancakes with warm syrup.

After two, I felt sick.

"Feels like all we've done on this whole trip is eat," I said.

"Travel takes a lot out of you,"
said Patton, pulling up his boxer shorts.  He sat next to me at the table and ate some bacon.  "Today's the big day.  You ready?"

"Am I participating in this interview?"

"No, but I figured we could go early and get a table.  Try out one of those artisan pizzas.  When Mr. Harding shows up, I'll sit with him at the bar."

"What do I do in the meantime?"

"I don't know.  Get drunk?"

I shrugged.  "Okay."

But it wasn't the interview I was worried about.

Back at Your Favorite Girl, Inc., something
bad was going to happen today.

Or was it?

Maybe Brian's plan would go down at this pizzeria.  We'd joked about plotting Mr. Harding's assassination, but what if
he
was the assassin?  What if Patton and I bit down on a slice of fancy wood-cooked thin-crust pizza and then fell to the floor foaming at the mouth, poisoned with some untraceable concoction of Brian's design?

Then again, if Brian's master plan was to kill us, why did we have to drive all the way to
Berkeley, California to die?  What was wrong with the cafeteria?

The morning passed slowly.  My anxiety mounted with each passing minute.  I tried watching TV to pass the time, but that didn't work.  I made the bed and cleaned up the room while Patton showered.  Then I jumped in after him
, earning myself another slap on the ass.

"I'm not a fucking horse."

"Of course," he said, giggling.

"Fucking idiot."

"There's no cheering you up, is there?"

I watched him towel himself dry, and that did cheer me up a little, but then I closed the shower curtain and stood under the hot water, going over everything in my head, trying to figure out what Brian was up to.

It was unfair of me to be so bitchy to Patton and not tell him why.  At this point, though, telling him was pointless.  We were two-thousand miles away, so if Brian's plan went down in Indianapolis, there was nothing we could do to stop it.

And how pissed at me would Patton be to discover I'd known all this time and didn't tell him?  That would make for one awkward trip home.

Better to just ride it out.  Whatever was going to happen, we'd find out on Friday.

We headed to the restaurant even earlier than planned and on my insistence.  I was going nuts sitting in the hotel.  I wanted a drink.  I wanted to get this over with and go back to Flora.  She was putting herself at risk every time she brought food to Judy, even without Liu to catch her.  Someone else could show up.  James, maybe, and Frog Girl might not have the facilities to remember her instructions to block the door, to protect Flora from anyone who tried to hurt her.

This time we took one of the tables lined up against the wall opposite the bar.  I ordered a sour apple martini and a glass of water.

"Make that two," Patton said.

I rolled my eyes.  "You're such a girl."

"Hey, that works out, since you're switching teams and all."

"I've always been a lesbian," I said.  "The men I've dated?  Just really complex dildos."

Behind me someone laughed, but I wasn't sure if it was in response to my comment or just a coincidence.

The restaurant was more crowded than it had been yesterday.  Mostly students, but a handful of patrons wore suits and various uniforms.  Early lunch break.  It was just past eleven.  Mr. Harding was supposed to show up around twelve-thirty.

Patton and I argued for a few minutes over toppings--I didn't want green peppers and he didn't want black olives or onions--but finally we reached a compromise and ordered.

Sure enough, the pizza came within a few minutes, and despite my complaining about how much food we'd eaten on this trip, I devoured my half of the pizza before Patton finished his second slice.

I was three martinis in at this point and waiting on my fourth.  Patton was staying relatively sober, just now finishing his first.

"You're making me look like an alcoholic."

He smiled.  "You're making me look like a pansy."

"Yeah, but I'm
not
an alcoholic."

Another laugh behind me.  I turned around to find a group of college boys giggling, and when one of them made eye contact with me he blushed and looked away quickly.  When I turned back to Patton, the table roared with laughter.

"Those little fuckers are eavesdropping," I said, loud enough for them to hear.

"Sorry!" one of them shouted.

"They're just having fun," Patton said.

When the waiter came around, Patton sent four beers to that table and they all turned around to thank him.

"You'll buy rounds for college kids whose parents are probably rich, but you tip waitresses like shit."

"Hey, I'm learning as I go."

"What's next?  Tying your shoes or wiping your ass?"

This time the laughter was loud enough to draw the attention of half the restaurant.

"You should have been a comedian," Patton said.  He started to take a sip of his martini, but he quickly stood up from his seat.  "That's Mr. Harding.  I'll see you shortly."

He patted me on the shoulder as he passed.

Now I felt awkward and vulnerable.  A few people were still staring at me, only I was alone with it.  There's no way I could ever be a comedian.  I can't stand being the center of attention.  A long time ago I used to toy with the idea of getting a teaching certificate, but it was the thought of standing up in front of a roomful of students that killed it.

I flagged down the waiter and ordered another martini.

"Is someone driving you?" he asked.

"I'm staying at a hotel down the road."

"Sorry, I have to ask."

"It's okay.  I used to be a waitress.  I know the drill.  And don't worry,
my boyfriend is rich and I make him tip well."

"I'll be right back," the waiter said.

He wasn't joking.  My martini was in front of me before I had time to anticipate it.

I turned to face the restaurant, leaning my back against the brick wall, and surveyed the bar, spotting Patton and Mr. Harding down near the entrance.  For some reason I'd expected Mr. Harding to be old.  Grey hair, glasses, brown coat with leather patches on the elbows, the stereotypical professor look.

This guy looked to be in his early thirties at the most.  He must be a genius, too, to be so young and teaching neuroscience--to have caught the attention of Brian.

I couldn't hear their conversation over the bustle of the busy restaurant, so I started surveying the room, watching people, trying to eavesdrop but failing.

My eyes fell upon a girl who was staring in my direction and my heart skipped a beat.  I looked away quickly, telling myself she was just some random girl still looking this way after the loud guffawing from the table behind me.

Then I looked again.  She was getting up now, still staring.

Not in this direction.

At me.

It was Ellen.

Before I could speak, she sat down in Patton's chair and leaned forward, looking angry and close to tears.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she whispered harshly.

I'd completely forgotten about her. 
Berkeley.  She'd left Ted to go to Berkeley.  Right here.

I fumbled my words.  "I'm . . . here . . . with a friend."

"Where's Ted?" she whispered, voice cracking.

"What?"

I didn't know what to say.

Ellen was crying now, pressing her fist into her mouth, shaking.  "I was told you both went missing.  The police came here to question me about it.  They thought I had something to
do
with it.  Everyone thinks you're both
dead.
  And suddenly here you are?  Where is he, Melissa?"

"Ellen, I . . ."

What was I supposed to do?  I felt trapped.  No more lies to tell.

"Yo
u killed him, didn't you?" she demanded, covering her eyes and crying.  "Because of me.  Because I fucked him."

Behind me, the table of college boys was silent.

"I didn't kill him," I said.

"Then where is he?"

"I don't know.  He left."

She laughed.  "He
left?
  He just walked out the door, left his job, his house, his cars, everything?  Where did he go?  The mountains?"

She was getting louder.  Now more people were paying attention.

I had to do something.

Leaning close, I met eyes with her and, in a low voice, said, "He went where you're gonna go if you don't shut your fucking mouth."

Ellen's eyes bulged and she fell back in her seat, stunned. I might as well have confessed to murder.

I felt a presence next to me.  Patton.

"Everything okay here?" he asked.

Ellen looked up at him with horror and scrambled out of her seat, making a mad dash for the door.

"You better hurry up with your interview," I said.

"Who was that?"

"Ellen."

He curled his brow for a moment.  Then it dawned on him.

"You're shitting me."

"She's probably going to the police."

"Okay.  Mr. Harding is a lock.  It didn't take any convincing.  I'm gonna run to the bathroom and then we'll get out of here."

I downed the rest of my martini and waited for Patton to disappear into the bathroom.  Then I stood, feeling pretty wobbly, and made my way down the bar to Mr. Harding, taking Patton's seat next to him.

"I'm sorry, miss, but someone's sitting there.  He just went to the restroom."

"
Don't take the job," I said, staring straight ahead.

The basketball game had been interrupted with a Breaking News bulletin, but the televisions were still muted and I was too drunk to focus on the screen.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Harding said.

"You don't want this job, Mr. Harding.  Trust me."

"Who are you?"

"Melissa."

"Are you with Patton?"

"Yes."

"Forgive me for asking, miss, but why on Earth would I turn down his offer?  Do you know how much money is involved?"

I turned to him.  "Dude, you know what happened to the last guy who didn't take my advice?  He wound up dead.  Now do yourself a favor, go back to campus, and live out the rest of your life fucking undergrads.  It's a good life.  Much better than the one you'll get with us."

"What was your name again?"

"Melissa."

"Well, with all due respect, Melissa, I don't care how miserable the job is.  Five-hundred grand a year makes it worth it."

I shook my head.  "If I was a man sitting here telling you this, you'd be a little more worried."

"What now?  Are you calling me sexist?"

"I'm calling you a fucking idiot."

"Okay, just what the hell is this?"

"
A fair warning," I said.  "That's all."

Mr. Harding said something else, but his words were drowned out by someone a few stools over.