and run into my ex-boyfriend and his new wife filming a reality show in the building where I work. I didn’t think things could get worse. But guess what? “No way. He’s got Wasser Hall, the crown jewel of residence halls. Why would he want to work here? ”
“Uh,” Sarah says, in a cynical tone, “because he thinks it’ll look really good on his résumé to be the guy who pulled the dorm with the most deaths in it ever out from the depths of its misery. And it wouldn’t hurt to be here to help the president and the basketball team through Pansygate either. He’s an idiot, but he’s no fool.”
I say a word that I’m sure would be too dirty to air on Cartwright Records Television.
“Pretty much,” Sarah says. “Dr. Jessup’s reviewing his CV. Simon thinks he’s a shoo-in because he’s in-house. Anyway, do you have any idea why there’s an ambulance parked outside but the attendants are nowhere to be found? Could they have gone into a neighboring building? The guard at the desk insists they came in here with some guy, but the guard’s a temp and I don’t think he knows what he’s—”
“Sarah,” I interrupt. “I don’t want this to get around. You know how gossipy this department is. But I’m with the EMTs. They’re in the president’s apartment.”
“Oh.” Sarah’s tone changes. “Is everyone all right?”
“So far,” I say. “It’s no one related to New York College.”
“Really?” Sarah sounds less tearful. “It’s not—?”
I know what she’s about to ask—if it’s Mrs. Allington.
“No,” I say firmly. “Not even close. It has to do with Junior.” That’s our code name for Christopher.
“Oh God,” Sarah says, sounding disgusted. “I don’t want to know, do I?”
I look behind me. Through the French doors, I can see the EMTs putting away their equipment. Tania is looking a bit less forlorn. She’s even managing to smile a bit. Jordan is on his feet and shaking the female attendant’s hand.
“No,” I say to Sarah, turning around again. “You don’t want to know. So why were you crying?”
“I don’t feel like talking about it,” Sarah says, sullen again. “It’s personal.”
I’m fairly certain I know what’s troubling her. She’s had another fight with Sebastian Blumenthal, the first real love of her life. Sebastian’s head of the GSC, the Graduate Student Union, and teaches at New York College. I once strongly suspected him of murder, but I guess that’s not unusual, given that he carries a man purse . . . not a messenger bag or a backpack, but an honest-to-goodness murse.
“That’s all right,” I say to Sarah. “Maybe we can talk about it tomor—”
“Great, bye,” Sarah interrupts, and hangs up on me.
Wow. I can’t keep track of all the ups and downs of Sarah’s turbulent relationship, but I do know that tomorrow morning I’ll be picking up chocolate croissants on my way in to work. They usually cheer her up.
I hang up too, then turn around and notice that Jordan has come out onto the terrace. He’s joined Cooper and Christopher and Stephanie, who’ve stood up from the table. Tania is still sitting on the couch inside. She’s pulled a large designer purse onto her lap and is digging around in it. The EMTs appear to have gone.
I go stand by Cooper’s side and catch only the tail end of what Jordan is saying.
“—definitely dehydrated and most likely anemic.”
“Well, that’s no surprise,” Stephanie says. “She’s vegan.”
Cooper says, without a hint of irony in his voice, “You know, Stephanie, I’ve heard it’s possible these days to be vegan and not be anemic.”
I hide a smile. Cooper eats cheeseburgers like they’re about to be declared illegal, and he needs to get as many under his belt as possible before the legislation passes. The worst part of it is that he never gains an ounce—possibly from his enthusiastic exercise regime, which includes playing one-on-one basketball on the Third Street
“Uh,” Sarah says, in a cynical tone, “because he thinks it’ll look really good on his résumé to be the guy who pulled the dorm with the most deaths in it ever out from the depths of its misery. And it wouldn’t hurt to be here to help the president and the basketball team through Pansygate either. He’s an idiot, but he’s no fool.”
I say a word that I’m sure would be too dirty to air on Cartwright Records Television.
“Pretty much,” Sarah says. “Dr. Jessup’s reviewing his CV. Simon thinks he’s a shoo-in because he’s in-house. Anyway, do you have any idea why there’s an ambulance parked outside but the attendants are nowhere to be found? Could they have gone into a neighboring building? The guard at the desk insists they came in here with some guy, but the guard’s a temp and I don’t think he knows what he’s—”
“Sarah,” I interrupt. “I don’t want this to get around. You know how gossipy this department is. But I’m with the EMTs. They’re in the president’s apartment.”
“Oh.” Sarah’s tone changes. “Is everyone all right?”
“So far,” I say. “It’s no one related to New York College.”
“Really?” Sarah sounds less tearful. “It’s not—?”
I know what she’s about to ask—if it’s Mrs. Allington.
“No,” I say firmly. “Not even close. It has to do with Junior.” That’s our code name for Christopher.
“Oh God,” Sarah says, sounding disgusted. “I don’t want to know, do I?”
I look behind me. Through the French doors, I can see the EMTs putting away their equipment. Tania is looking a bit less forlorn. She’s even managing to smile a bit. Jordan is on his feet and shaking the female attendant’s hand.
“No,” I say to Sarah, turning around again. “You don’t want to know. So why were you crying?”
“I don’t feel like talking about it,” Sarah says, sullen again. “It’s personal.”
I’m fairly certain I know what’s troubling her. She’s had another fight with Sebastian Blumenthal, the first real love of her life. Sebastian’s head of the GSC, the Graduate Student Union, and teaches at New York College. I once strongly suspected him of murder, but I guess that’s not unusual, given that he carries a man purse . . . not a messenger bag or a backpack, but an honest-to-goodness murse.
“That’s all right,” I say to Sarah. “Maybe we can talk about it tomor—”
“Great, bye,” Sarah interrupts, and hangs up on me.
Wow. I can’t keep track of all the ups and downs of Sarah’s turbulent relationship, but I do know that tomorrow morning I’ll be picking up chocolate croissants on my way in to work. They usually cheer her up.
I hang up too, then turn around and notice that Jordan has come out onto the terrace. He’s joined Cooper and Christopher and Stephanie, who’ve stood up from the table. Tania is still sitting on the couch inside. She’s pulled a large designer purse onto her lap and is digging around in it. The EMTs appear to have gone.
I go stand by Cooper’s side and catch only the tail end of what Jordan is saying.
“—definitely dehydrated and most likely anemic.”
“Well, that’s no surprise,” Stephanie says. “She’s vegan.”
Cooper says, without a hint of irony in his voice, “You know, Stephanie, I’ve heard it’s possible these days to be vegan and not be anemic.”
I hide a smile. Cooper eats cheeseburgers like they’re about to be declared illegal, and he needs to get as many under his belt as possible before the legislation passes. The worst part of it is that he never gains an ounce—possibly from his enthusiastic exercise regime, which includes playing one-on-one basketball on the Third Street
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