Read Online All The Pretty Dead Girls by John Manning - Free Book Online

at Wilbourne and what they had meant to her—her voice came down an octave or two and became almost hypnotic. The fidgeting and whispering stopped, and Davenport’s voice became full of passion as she went on and on about how Wilbourne had prepared her for the real world, for great success and fame…
    “No politics,” Malika whispered. “She’s staying away from politics.”
    “You sound as if you’re disappointed.”
    Malika shrugged. “I was just hoping for a little drama.”
    When Davenport finished—to, again, polite applause—Dean Gregory led the students in a closing prayer and then dismissed them.
    “I can’t believe it,” said one of Malika’s friends, a plump brunette, rushing up to them outside. “Not a controversial word! I saw that bitch on CNN the other night and wanted to put my fist through the television. I was all ready to stand up and shout her down.”
    “And get ten demerits your first day back,” Malika reminded her. “Sandy, this is Sue. Sue, Sandy.”
    The girls shook hands.
    “It’s time we radicalize this campus,” Sandy was saying, even as she let go of Sue’s hand. “I’ve petitioned the dean to let us form a group—”
    “Excuse me,” a woman said, interrupting them. All three girls turned to look at her. She was a thickset young blond woman in a white blouse and blue skirt. “I’m looking for Sue Barlow.”
    Sue glanced at her companions, then said, “I’m Sue Barlow.”
    “Ms. Davenport would like to see you. Will you come with me?”
    “What?”
    “How do you know Joyce Davenport?” Sandy asked, leering suspiciously at Sue.
    “I don’t,” Sue said.
    Malika just looked at her oddly.
    The woman in front of them narrowed her eyes at Sue. “She’s waiting.”
    “I don’t know her,” Sue protested.
    “Apparently, she knows you,” Malika said, her voice cold.
    Sue turned to look at her. “It’s got to be my grandfather. His firm…”
    Malika just shrugged. “Go see what she wants.”
    Sue turned back to Davenport’s emissary. “Okay, take me to her.”
    The woman smiled. Sue didn’t like her smile. Not at all.
    “Follow me,” she said.

7
    Sue followed the woman around the building and up a short flight of stairs that led to the back of the stage. They pushed through the curtains and down a narrow hallway. Finally, they stopped in front of a door, and the woman rapped on it before letting herself in.
    “Ms. Davenport?” she called. “I have Sue Barlow.”
    “Send her in!” It was the same voice Sue had just heard over the microphone. Her heart beating a little faster, she walked into the room.
    It was dingy and cramped, mirrors on both walls and a long counter on the wall to her left. The walls were plaster, and in places paint was missing where notices had been taped and later ripped down. The place smelled slightly musty, and the floor was yellowed with coats of wax. Round bulbs surrounded the long mirror. Behind a partition, Sue spotted the woman who had summoned her.
    “Hello.” Sue’s words were awkward. “You wanted to see me?”
    Joyce Davenport was sitting on top of a stool, smoking a cigarette and drinking white wine from a fluted glass. Her legs were crossed at the knee, hiking her skirt up to her upper thighs. A long run showed in her stockings on her left leg. She smiled and tilted her head, narrowing her dark eyes. “So you’re Sue Barlow.” She set the wineglass down and gestured to her. “Come closer.”
    Sue took a hesitant step forward.
    Joyce stood up. Up close, her face was long and narrow, almost horsy, with a pinched nose and thin wide lips. Her eyes were brown and round, and the whites were shot through with red. Heavy makeup could not disguise the small lines around her eyes and mouth.
    Joyce tossed her head to get her long hair out of her face. She threw her arms around Sue and hugged her, then stepped back and searched her face.
    “Yes, I can see traces of Mariclare in you.” The woman smiled deeply. “I