wednesday

Tamara pours a second glass of orange juice. The married student cottage isn’t very big, with only a “nook” instead of a real eat in kitchen, but that’s okay, she thinks. Better than residence coffins with people stealing your food.

Quentin may be great in the sack but he’s not much for cleaning. Smaller means less mess.

Or maybe more concentrated mess.

As she whisks the egg mixture she cocks an ear, but she doesn’t hear the shower.

It occurs to her that he might have gone back to sleep. And here she is making his breakfast. Setting the bowl on the galley counter she nips down the hall into the bedroom. Hearing his snores reignites her annoyance and she shakes him.

“C’mon Q. You’ve gotta get up, baby.”

He mutters and tries to roll away but she grabs his shoulders. “It’s morning. You want breakfast you gotta get up.”

He opens his eyes and smiles up at her. She loves his smile, but she’s gotta get going.

Quentin licks his lips seductively. “Hey gorgeous,” he says, nearly melting her resolve. “C’mon for a little cuddle first,” reaching for her waist.

Determination causes her to step back, just out of reach. “I can’t hon, I’ve got a 9:30 lecture. I’m making French toast. If you want some you’d better get your butt outta bed.”

Quentin gives her puppy dog eyes in a pouty face but Tamara just grins wickedly. Points her finger at him, “‘If you’re still in bed when I go I’m feedin’ your French Toast to the birds.”

He stares in horror. “You wouldn’t do that. Would you?”

She tosses her head and heads out the door. “Think what you like. Just remember, you were warned.”

She slams the door and returns to the kitchen.

He lays there a minute looking at the closed door. Hmm. Maybe she’s mad he was out so late last night.

She was sleeping when he came in. Least she acted like she was sleeping. If she’s mad, maybe she really would dump his breakfast out for the birds.

It wouldn’t even be a question if she knew he’d been up half the night talking to another woman. The frying pan wouldn’t be making French toast, it would be embedded in his skull.

Tamara would never believe it was just talking, but it’s true just the same. So. Better not push it. Not this morning, anyway.

Quentin stretches and hauls himself out of bed.

Into the shower, hoping she’s not mad enough to do that cold water thing again. He soaps up, letting the hot water pound him, helping relax tense muscles. It feels good as the tension starts to drain. They’re going to have to talk, maybe tonight. He tilts his head back and takes a gulp of water, swishing it around in his mouth, spitting. The head is a little tender but he’ll live.

Quentin clambers out of the shower stall and rubs himself down, winding the towel around his waist he steps into shower shoes. He opens the window to let the steam dissipate then moves on to the kitchen, where he admires Tamara efficiently tending the food cooking in the frying pan. Heaven.

Quentin comes up behind her and slides his hands around her waist. “Smells real good baby” he breathes in her ear and he rubs up against her. She wiggles free and whirls around to face him.

“Stop it Q– I’m cooking!”

He recoils as if slapped, unprepared for the fury. He sighs as he feels “mister morning” droop.

Tamara looks at his dejected face and softens her tone a shade, “I don’t exactly feel like getting burnt over here, Q.”

He holds up his hands in apology, “Sorry, Babe.” Looking somewhat sheepish he heads back to sit at the table. He downs the OJ in one, and pours himself another.

Tamara feels mean for a moment, but having to flip the French toast gets her over it. Another moment and she scoops the golden breakfast food and carries the plates to the table. The way his face lights up melts some of her anger.

As he drowns his breakfast with the syrup, he tells her, “Looks good, baby.”

When he takes a bite, moaning in rapture, she can’t help but laugh at her man-child. Tamara sips her juice, picking at her food.

She’s never been big on sweets, but he loves this stuff. She can pick up a cheese croissant at the coffee shop on her way in to class. After yesterday she just can’t afford to be late.

Having vacuumed his food Quentin looks longingly at hers, and she passes it over and drains her coffee as he dives in.

She gets up and hangs the cute little apron on the hook by the door. “Gotta go.” Opening the closet she grabs her jacket and slips into it but when she turns around Quentin is standing right there looking terribly contrite.

“I’m sorry I was so late last night, Babe.” he reaches for her but she steps backward into the closet. His face falls as he realizes that she’s rebuffing him again.

Now it’s her turn, “Now you just wait a minute. Don’t even think about laying a load of guilt on me. I do not have time to mess around with you this morning no matter how much I might want to. I have a 9:30 lecture and it’s after nine already.”

He turns away, and stomps out of the room.

Now her anger rears its head, and she calls after him down the hall, “You wanna mess around with me Q maybe you oughta try coming home nights.” Tamara grabs her purse and stalks out, slamming the door behind her.

She is mad. In the bedroom Quentin slumps in a chair.

He hates it when she’s right.

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Professor Gates projects a presentation on the large screen, “Obviously it’s easier to adopt a static layout because there is less to take into account.” Gates walks around the lab, glancing at the CSS code the students are working on.

“To fully exploit the capabilities of the user’s browser and screen real estate your content should be readable no matter how the user accesses it.” She scans Krystal’s code.

“That’s much better Krys, you’re on track now.”

Krystal smiles. “It’s scaling the images that gets me.”

Gates nods, says “It gets easier.” Raising her voice to address the rest of the class, “I’ll schedule office hours Friday for any problems you need to discuss. That’s the day, people.”

As Gates heads out, Kate announces “Computer Club tonight at my place,” but most of the class is already streaming out the door.

“I’ll be there!” says Maggie from the doorway, and Oscar calls “Me too,” as he follows her out.

Adam intercepts Kate enroute to the door and says, “Excuse me, Kate, I don’t know where ‘your place’ is.”

“Oh, that’s OK, we live in the Married Student bungalows. ours is number 37. I hope you come check it out?”

“I’m kind of tired from last night, but I may just do that.”

“What happened last night?”

“The Black Eyed Peas concert.”

“Oh, wow, that’s cool. I love ‘The E.N.D.’ Don’t have ‘The Beginning’ yet. Are they as wild in person as I think they are?”

“That Fergie was quite impressive, she’d sing and then do a full body flip while holding her microphone, and then sing another line, then another flip. And he never seemed out of breath.”

“Maybe you can tell me more tonight. We’re just starting up, tonight’s agenda is establish what the club will want to do.”

“It sounds good,” he yawns and says, “I will really try.” Kate’s grin is echoed by a Adam’s own. “See you then.”

Kate is tucking her laptop into its case when Krystal asks her, “What’s up with Adam?”

Kate continues tucking away bits of paraphernalia as she says, “I don’t know, but I’ve never seen him like that before. He’s always so serious.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve even seen him smile before.”

“He went to the BEP concert.”

Krystal laughs. “The world must’ve slipped on its axis.”

Kate’s ready to go when she realizes Krystal hasn’t started packing up, and is still working on her web page. “Aren’t you coming?”

Krystal shakes her head. “I don’t have another class ’til after lunch, but this room’s empty, so I stay and get more done.”

“I hear you. It’s funny, but a lot of the time I’m glad Nick’s course load is so heavy because it leaves me the time I need to get my own stuff done. You coming tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

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Back at Fyfield House, Natasha is curled up in the rocking chair, strawberry blonde hair jutting out at all angles. Scrolling through the images on her camera to make preliminary selections, she looks up to see a bleary eyed Boris, wearing only shapeless gray track pants, stumble through the common room en route to the kitchen.

Natasha grins. It’s not that she’s admiring the rippling muscles of his torso, or his washboard abs. It’s more a kinship of bad hair. Boris is the only human being she’s met in her life who has worse morning hair than she does.

She reaches for the dregs of her coffee and takes a sip as Boris comes back with his own. She says, “That’s what I like about you Bo, you’re even less of a morning person than I am.”

Boris sets his coffee on the table and sprawls out on the red sofa with an inarticulate grunt.

“I’d be careful if I were you. If you nod off you’ll end up missing composition.” He groans this time. “Again,” she says.

Boris pulls himself into a sitting position and picks up his coffee, taking a tentative sip. He glances over at Natasha. “You’re awfully chipper for such an ungodly hour.”

Natasha laughs. “It’s almost eleven. Practically afternoon. I’ve been up for …” she studies her watch “… minutes.”

Boris snorts a laugh, making the hot coffee slop back and forth in the mug held dangerously above his lap. In an effort to boost consciousness, or perhaps sentience, he takes a somewhat bigger sip before returning the mug to the safety of the table. Flopping back he says, “We’re soul mates, Nat.”

“Naw, just too stupid to go to bed at a decent hour.”

“Good we were smart not to schedule morning classes.”

“Except Friday. That 9 am elective is nasty.”

“Think they rescheduled it on purpose?”

“It’s too early for conspiracy theories, Bo.”

“Where’d you go last night?”

“Couldn’t sleep so I went over to Callaghan’s. You should’ve come if you were up. Man, Q was wasted. I sat up half the night with him, and you know what? Poor sap wants to make movies.”

Boris fights down the pang of annoyance that Natasha was out with Q last night. “Better tell him he’s in the wrong program.”

“He knows. He’s really just trying to work up the nerve to tell his wife. She’s a med student.”

Boris drinks his coffee. Wife? First he heard Q was married. Good. Then, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for pictures for Ethan’s slide show.”

“Your eyes must be more open than mine.” Setting the coffee mug down again, Boris leans back and closes his eyes. “You know, that was interesting. Liz and Ethan, I mean.”

Natasha says, “Yeah, I never would have guessed.”

“I think they’re both a little bugged by the height thing.”

“Of course they are. She’s an Amazon princess and he’s Eric Idle’s shorter brother.”

“Aww, cut ’em some slack. They make a pretty cute couple.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Like us,” says Boris.

His eyes are closed but hers are not as she glances over at him. Danger signal if she ever heard one. What to do what to do what to do. Let it lay. It will pass. Concentrate on the pictures.

Natasha rocks a little faster, pretending she hasn’t heard as she tries to keep focusing on the camera screen.

Boris watches Natasha’s consternation through his veiled lashes. Why does she look like a deer in the headlights? It’s not such a crazy notion. She just needs to get used to the idea.

Not a spare ounce on her but he kind of likes that. He was surprised at how good she felt in his arms when thy were scrambling around on that bloody statue. He hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind. He opens his eyes and sits up, picking up his cup, looking at her. Sticking up hair and all. Hell, he’s never known anyone else with worse morning hair than he has.

“Hey Nat? Wanna try having a date?”

“Aw, Bo …” Natasha flushes a little, and looks over at him, “Why ruin a perfectly good friendship?”

“It doesn’t have to ruin anything.”

“It’s not a good idea, Boris, I’m sorry.”

Boris sits rigid, trying to keep her from seeing how hurt he feels. But of course she does.

“Look, I’ve gotta go take a shower.” She sets her camera down on the table. “Later, O.K?”

Boris suggests hopefully, “Maybe I could wash your back?”

Natasha looks at his puppy dog eyes and …. flees.

Boris closes his eyes again. Why can’t she see it? They are so alike. It would be perfect. He sighs in frustration. She’s his best friend dammit. Isn’t that what women want? Maybe he needs to try the cave man approach. Be firm.

Don’t ask, just kiss the girl. Make Natasha understand what she means to him.

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Ethan sits at the terminal in the cramped TA room organizing the first submissions that have come in by email. He can’t believe the volume of response.

Jake only stuck up a few posters yesterday, they haven’t even put a notice on the photo blog. At this rate maybe better not to. Suddenly hands are pressed over his eyes, momentarily disconcerting him until he breathes in the heady scent of soap and girl that tells him it’s Liz.

“Guess who!”

He swivels the chair around to face her, grabbing hold of her hands he kisses each palm in turn. Liz shivers in delight, then bends down and takes his breath away with a kiss. Coming up for air, she reaches back without looking and pushes the door closed, then smiles and straddles his lap to make smooching easier. Eventually both have to stop to catch their breath.

“Wow,” he says, noticing even through his euphoria that they are eye to eye even though she’s perching in his lap.

What legs.

Liz smiles and says, “Natasha and I are heading over to the Antique Car Show down at the Waterfront this afternoon. So I thought you might like to get lunch.”

“Yeah, that was good.”

She giggles. “I meant food. You know, like at the caf. Or the coffee shop.”

“Uh. If you want me to go out in public, it’s gonna be a little while before I can walk.”

Liz flushes. “Oh I’m sorry.”

Ethan laughs and tells her, “Oh, don’t be sorry.” and pulls her in for an encore.

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Barbie and Tamara are depositing the remains of their lunch trays in the cafeteria garbage and recycling bins when Jose joins them.

He says, “Hey guys. Anybody up for a little walk in the woods?”

Tamara shakes her head, “I can’t afford the time today, Jose. We’ve got to prep for a big test.”

Tamara watches Jose’s face fall, noting how intently he is looking at Barbie. And Barbie is just as intently not looking at him. Uh oh. Suddenly she gets the dynamic, realizing her friends have crossed the line. Bad shit. Trying to save face for both she says, “Maybe we can get together on the weekend. Supposed to be nice.”

“I guess,” Jose is realizing that Barbie won’t look at him.

“You can probably catch Q later. He’s finished after comp. Whyn’t you guys go out for a pub crawl tonight? I’m not going to have any time for him today.”

“Maybe.” Jose mutters miserably, beating a hasty retreat.

Tamara watches him go, before turning back to her friend. “Barbie girl, what did you do to that boy?”

“The other day it was so warm out, and well, we all kinda dozed off. When I woke up it was down to just us, and Jose kissed me, and I kind of let him. I was half asleep, and I was half dreaming, you know. So. Maybe I kissed him.” She shakes her head. “Either way big mistake.”

“Too bad,” says Tamara, watching Jose. “Yum.”

“Stop it Tam.” Barbie giggles wickedly, “You’re a married woman now.” They gather up their things from the table.

“Marriage may have taken me out of circulation, but it didn’t take out my eyes. Maybe you can turn off your feelings but I can’t. Married ladies can look, just not touch.”

Barbie giggles. “You’re baaaaad!”

“So who did you go to the concert with?”

“That guy who fixed up my computer. Alan.”

“I would never have pegged him for a Peabody.”

“Me either, but he got great seats. In the A’s even.”

“So was it great?”

“Oh, Tam, I could have reached out and touched Taboo.”

“You are so lucky. But we better hurry now.”

“Don’t worry so much, Nick’s only a T.A.”

They step through the doors, Tamara pulls her sweater tighter, but Barbie doesn’t have one. “Brrr, suddenly it’s winter.”

Barbie and Tamara briskly cross the oval toward the Bio Building extension off the Medical Centre. Hurrying because of the cold.

Everyone is hurrying because it’s so cold.

§

Natasha walks fast across the oval. Huddled into her coat, she doesn’t notice Boris until he falls in step beside her.

“We have to talk, Natasha.”

“Not now Boris, I’m gonna be late.”

“Then we can both be late. Can you please just look at me? I thought at least we were friends.”

Natasha looks up at Boris and he’s surprised to see tears in her eyes. “We are friends. I’ve never had a friend as good as you Boris. I mean it. You are my best friend.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is. Isn’t that a good way to start a relationship?”

“Sometimes it is. Just not this time.”

§

Well, almost everyone. Tamara sees two people not hurrying. Standing still. But it’s too cold. What’s going on? Looks like Boris and Natasha. But it can’t be. They’re tense, body language says they’re arguing. But they never argue. There’s a joke around the school Boris and Natasha are actually the same person.

If it is Boris and Natasha.

It’s too far away to hear, and anyway too damn cold to stop and watch.

But suddenly there’s that computer guy again, Alan, on an interception path with Barbie. Tamara thinks, “Another one.”

“Barbie.” He’s smiling big. “I was wondering if you’d have time for a coffee later?”

Barbie shakes her head. “Sorry, Al, not today. Can’t talk now, I’m late for class!”

Adam’s smile falls away as he sees she’s not going to stop. Barbie doesn’t even break stride.

Tamara spares the guy a shrug, thinking seats in the A’s don’t mean so much after all. Not after the concert is over, anyway. Poor Alan has the same look of desolation Jose had a minute ago. Tamara wonders if Barbie realizes her power.

Adam just watches his dream girl walking away. She couldn’t spare him a minute. Of course, it is cold, and she’s not wearing a coat. And he’s heard how heavy the pre-med course load is. She probably has a lot to catch up after going out with him last night. Besides she isn’t even wearing a sweater. That’s probably it, it’s just cold. Adam feels unaccountably deflated anyway. He decides to go get something to eat at the cafeteria.

§

Across the oval, Boris towers over Natasha. Trying to be calm and rational. But it’s really hard because she’s being so damned stubborn.

“You haven’t even given it a chance, Nat. Just think about it. That’s all I want. Just for you to think about it.”

Natasha clenches her fists, “I don’t have to think about it, Bo. I know it wouldn’t work. It just wouldn’t.”

“You can’t know that. Not without giving it a chance. Natasha I … I love you. I love you so much.”

“Oh Boris, don’t,” she looks so sad.

Her eyes are all puffy, her nose is redder than the hair sticking out from under her hat in endearing little spikes and tendrils. He can’t help it, he leans down and gathers her in his arms, and she’s trying to push him away but he kisses her with a passion he didn’t know he had. Except Natasha is wriggling and pounding on his chest. Then she stops fighting and lets him kiss her.
And it’s glorious.

§

Barbie is almost at the Bio door when she suddenly stops dead. Completely unprepared, Tamara plows into Barbie’s back. In spite of the cold, the two med students watch rapt as Boris gathers Natasha up in his grand passionate gesture.

“What?” asks Tamara and swivels her head to see what’s captured her friend’s attention.

§

Boris comes up for air and looks down at Natasha. Expecting to see the flushed look of love in her eyes he’s disconcerted to see … anger.

Fury. Uh oh.

“What?” Boris asks as Natasha hauls off and slugs him with every ounce of strength she can muster. He reels in shock followed by a surprising wave of pain radiating outward from the bridge of his nose.

§

Barbie and Tamara aren’t the only people in the oval to be arrested by the sight of the tiny woman … it has got to be Natasha … hauling off and pounding the big guy … not Boris! How could she hit Boris? He’s such a sweetie and but she just slugged him in the head. And Bori s… he just falls over. Holy shit!

Boris finds himself sitting on the ground. There’s a burning pain in his left eye and he claps his hand overs it. His other eye watches uncomprehendingly as Natasha whirls and stalks away, not looking back. Not even once.

Boris realizes this might not have been such a good idea.

Suddenly there are people coming up to him. A couple of cute girls actually.

Mmm the stacked blonde one is Barbie, Jose’s friend. She’s touching his forehead as she kneels beside him.

“Are you OK, Boris?” Boris looks at Barbie stupidly.

The other one says, “Maybe you wanna come into the Bio Building and we’ll get your head looked at?”

More people are arriving. Crowding around. Half the school must have seen it. Oh great. Just what he needs.

“No. No, it’s okay. Really.” He scrambles to his feet. “No, I don’t need a doctor, just some ice. I’ve been hit before.”

Experience tells Boris it’s gonna be a heck of a black eye. Maybe even a double shiner. You don’t grow up with brothers without getting pounded occasionally. Leave it to Natasha.

He looks down at the pretty pre-meds, and then realizes that there are all kinds of people heading in this direction. Already a dozen people, mostly women, making a growing crowd. What happened? Where did all these people come from? Boris realizes he’s got to do something if he wants any kind of a life here.

Smiling as rakishly as he can manage he says, “After the swelling goes down I expect I’ll be drowning my sorrows at the pub tonight. Any lovely ladies care to help soothe my soul, that’s where I’ll be.”

Barbie laughs, and reaches up to pat him on the shoulder. “You’ll be all right.”

The crowd starts to disperse– it’s too cold– and Boris takes advantage to hustle back to the residence, to be alone.

§

Adam feels unsettled. Not sick exactly. But there is a clenching in his stomach. Seeing that tiny little girl hit that really big guy was weird. Especially when the big guy just fell down.

The part that … hurt … was watching Barbie run over to the big guy and then laugh and … and … flirt with him. Some stupid jock. Barbie couldn’t spare a minute to talk to him, the one who makes her computer work like clockwork, the one who spent a fortune to take her to that concert of noise. But she can find time to bat her eyes at that … that … jock.

Adam shuts his eyes. His ears are still ringing from all the noise last night. Maybe the best thing for him today would be to go home. Everyone else cuts classes. Why shouldn’t he? He’s as good as they are.

Better.

Mental Health day, that’s what Oscar would call it. Just go home. Maybe he’d be better off staying away from girls altogether.

They just are too different. He doesn’t know how … how to be with them. Why can’t girls just be like regular people? It’s like they have different rules.

His brother got him tickets– really good tickets apparently — to the concert. Sitting right beside giant speakers is supposed to be a good thing? Not to him.

Lights flashing, strobing. Giant screens showing videos of politicians and then there were those weird dancers. Lights and special effects pounding in your eyes, people yelling and screaming all through it. And it was just noise.

You couldn’t call it music, not really. Music is Sergei Prokofiev or Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Not noise so loud your ears ring for hours afterward.

He knows Barbie enjoyed it. She jumped up and down, a lot, and even sang along with the noise when he couldn’t even tell what the words were. She smelled good. Especially after all the jumping around. He guesses it was supposed to be dancing. Was watching her jiggle like that worth it? He’ll be paying it off for weeks, but it was worth it. Wasn’t it?

Barbie got so sweaty so he could kind of see through her shirt. He really wanted to touch her. He looks around quickly, feeling guilty for the thought. Even though it’s cold he’s getting sweaty himself, just thinking about Barbie. He wanted to touch her so much last night after the concert but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

She smelled so good in the car. Her car is so much nicer than his, he’s glad he let her drive. For the very first time he understands why guys spend so much money on cars. He would have been embarrassed for her to ride in his car.

Walking down the path toward the parking lot now, the more he thinks about it the better the idea of a mental health day sounds. His head is still pounding from last night. He just wanted to touch her. Maybe it wasn’t worth it, really.

She didn’t even kiss him goodnight.

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