Prologue
With opening night just days away, Malan didn’t know how much more of this he could take. American playwright Tennessee William’s A Glass Menagerie concluded the series of shows produced by North Central Texas University’s theater department at The Round in the spring semester of 1990 but so far that night’s rehearsals had been a fiasco, and if that was any indication the memory play was going to be a major flop. He – none of them for that matter -- wanted that.
Songs from various musical genres ranging from country to rap blasted over rows of boom boxes competed with the repetitive whirring hum of power tools, loud hammering of nails into wooden frames and the scraping sounds of pieces of furniture being moved across the stage. Members of the show’s crew and cast who currently weren’t involved in that night’s rehearsal including his childhood friend and fellow theater major Billy Markham worked on constructing and setting up the set behind him. Not only was the clatter annoying the 18-year-old freshman star of the show, it was massively distracting and affected his attention and focus, resulting in him missing cues as well as him messing up his lines or worse forgetting them all together. On top of that, it was giving him a thundering headache. Inadvertently his hand moved from where it was supposed to be to his temple; his fingertips pressed firmly against his skin rubbing away the soreness.
“Hamel!” bellowed Professor Paul Lerm in disgust snapping his fingers at the young actor. The notable British accent of the seasoned actor and director, who in addition to being a theater professor served as dean of the university’s theater department, only became detectable when the educator vocally disapproved of university policies and procedures or he was displeased, angry or upset; it was clearly the later emotions.
The repeated numbers of times, Dean Lerm, the director of all the campus theater shows, had called out the freshman theater major’s name during rehearsal that night had made Malan cringe. The 18-year-old actor figured he had to be the source of the seasoned British actor and director’s frustrations and displeasure. Particularly since the university’s dean of the theater department had frequently called the young actor by his last name. On the first day he’d arrived as theater major at North Central Texas University (NCTU), the 18-year-old remembered that the Dean telling his students he was fairly casual and informal in the theater. It hadn’t seemed appropriate or right but the educator had vehemently insisted his students call him Paul. It hadn’t taken long for that to happen, particularly for him. In the almost year he’d been a student at NCTU, he had developed a fairly close personal relationship with Paul Lerm with whom he had frequent conversations and interactions with outside the campus theater. The seasoned British actor, and director and educator had become more than his professor to him he was a friend, mentor and surrogate father.
A part of the aggravation and annoyance the educator had probably had to do with the fact that the freshman theater major’s performance that night was off – way off; or at least that’s what Malan had concluded from the reoccurring sighs and head shakes he’d seen from the professor during that night’s rehearsal. Watching from his usually spot in the center of the back row of The Round, he’d seen Paul paced back and forth kicking the back sides of the plastic cushioned chairs in front of him muttering curses clearly indicated the director was not happy with his young cast’s performances in that night’s rehearsals, particularly his. While the young actor certainly had bad days and times when he was off, way off, all the way off, in his performances, such occurrences were rare.
As the cast waited for his direction, Paul sighed as he shoved his cell phone into his jeans pocket and then returned to his seat. “Okay, People, try it again from the top of this scene." Moans and sighs reached his ears as the other theater students realized that they’d have to start the scene yet again; but they all knew the veteran actor and director was a demanding task master who wanted and expected nothing less than perfection from his student actors. The grueling pace of rehearsals, the constant riding and pushing to the limits were all definitely Paul’s standard operating procedures.
Stagnant and automatic, Malan’s performance was suffering because he was numb with fatigue. It seemed they’d run the scene into the ground and were all just going through the motions. The lines were blurring together after so many takes. Once again he got into position, but this time his mind went blank, and he couldn’t recall the line. Staring at the house lights, his brow furrowed tightly with the effort to recall the simple words he’d said a dozen times in the last hour. He frowned.
Finally, Paul seemed to give up too, snapping at the cast, "Okay, thanks everybody, that’s a wrap."
Relieved, the majority of thespians began to head back stage to their dressing rooms to change out of their costumes and gather their belongings. As the show's director sat down and made some notes about scenes they'd need to work on the next day, Malan longed to ask Paul if he could stay longer and mess around with his performance on his own but he hesitated to ask because the mumbling British educator looked engrossed in his thoughts and work.
Feeling a familiar friendly slap on the back, Malan turned to see his childhood friend Billy standing beside him. The fellow freshman and theater major had always been among the cool people at school and he dressed in the latest fashions but added his own flair and style emphasizing his prankster lady chasing personality. Typically he wore jeans, irreverent humorous T-shirts and tennis shoes, but that day he exhibited his tough guy biker persona clad entirely in black with a matching jacket. “Are we still on for dinner at Misty Memories tonight?”
“Yeah,” he grinned. He’d had a hankering for one of the family-owned restaurant’s famous greasy cheeseburger with all the fixings, a large basket of fries and a large frosty root beer float for a long while. Most American males his age wouldn’t have had the will power or been able to say no to eating meals like that; while it was difficult to avoid such foods the young actor managed to do it. Fattening, high calorie foods were a luxury he only allowed himself every once in awhile. Keeping trim, fit, muscular figures were mandatory requirements for ROTC in which they both were involved and since they were actors. “But I need to shower and change first.”
“Of course you do,” Billy remarked amused by his friend’s attention to personal hygiene, which was important but right now eating food was a huge priority for him. He flashed his fellow thespian an ear splitting grin. “And then what about afterward?” There was a keg party at Kappa Sig Fraternity that night, and his buddy really wanted him to attend.
His classmate frequently went to parties and had an overabundance of dates and girlfriends. Billy’s extracurricular activities were mind boggling and excessive; Malan’s spun when he thought about the number of women his best friend had because he couldn’t keep track of how many girlfriends Billy had had or who he was currently dating. The young actor didn’t know how his best friend managed to maintain his academic eligibility requirements for his major and to continue in college but the reckless collegiate lothario managed to maintain at least a B average in all his classes.
“I don’t know, Bill.” Malan shrugged a note of concern in his voice.
“I’m sure it’ll be okay. I’m sure they’ll have plenty sodas or water there.” Billy knew his friend had been clean and sober since his sophomore year of high school and tended to avoid any situations that would jeopardize that. “Come on, Malan. Please Buddy.” The playboy actor held his hand folded like he was praying in front of him and his dark eyes pleaded. “You and I hardly hang out anymore. You’re always studying or something else.” Malan smirked amused. It was a familiar frequent complaint. “It’ll be fun. Besides there’ll be lots of hot, beautiful women in string bikinis in the pool and hot tub at the frat house and I need your help as we mow our way through the throng or to at least take some of them from me.”
Crossing his arms across his chest, he wore a thoughtful expression as his amused grin broadened. Billy constantly tried to fix him up with someone but he wasn’t interested in being with or having just anyone; his best friend knew that. There was only one woman he really wanted. “Huh, huh,” he murmured ignoring his buddy’s typical pointed arguments. He didn’t really want to go to the party. He expansively gestured around the theater. “I’ve been kind of tied up here so I have some homework to catch up on and studying to do.”
“Right. Sure you do.” Billy remarked in a disappointed, unhappy tone. “Still, as smart as you are, you wouldn’t have to do much of anything and you’d still get an A in all your classes.” Yeah, he was extremely smart and he’d been salutatorian of Sheridan High but the young actor felt college raised the educational standard to a more challenging, higher, harder standard; so far in the last almost year hadn’t been like that for him but it could be in the future. Appreciating his best friend’s understanding, he slugged him in the shoulder twice in rapid succession. “Still,” Billy mused rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Your polite decline of my invite could be just another excuse for you to have an opportunity to have another one of your usual chats with Lathal Harvey.”
Soft groans escaped his lips at the mention of the pretty blonde freshman journalist’s name. Just thinking about the reporter who worked at The Review, the campus paper, made him ache. She was a close friend with whom he shared two classes with her and she had performed beside him in Annie in February so it made it difficult to keep her out of his mind. You’re in love with her, You Imbecile, and she should be your girlfriend but she isn’t. Now you can’t because you’re dating Cassandra LaBrie instead of who you really want to date -- Lathal.
He didn’t know when the last time he’d talked to Lathal but it had been months. In the past she frequented the campus theater. Sometimes it was in an official capacity for her job and other times she’d just sit and watch his rehearsals; the 18-year-old regularly came to his shows too but in the last four months her presence in the theater at rehearsals and shows had become a rare occurrence. The reasons they had frequently been apart had been they were both had busy schedules which included class work and studies as well as his acting engagement and her job at the campus paper; he felt these were just excuses. There were some deeper reasons they had both been denying and were guilty of in regard to why they had been deliberately avoiding each other.
“So, have you officially stopped trying to snake Cassandra?” Billy mused slightly surprised. His best friend didn’t seem afraid of or affected by the venomous, poisonous veiled threats his perfectly curvaceous, rich, buxom, stunningly beautiful, slightly older, manipulative cheerleading/dance squad sorority sister made in regard to what would happen if she suspected Malan of cheating on her with another woman, much less what she’d do if the young actor ever ended their relationship.
The long chats and interactions his pal and the reporter had had together as friends wasn’t really the kind of relationship the two friends thought they had. That fact was obviously apparent to Billy; the pair’s current relationship status suggested so much more tettering on what the playboy actor would call dating. Malan was playing with fire when it came to his relationship with Lathal and so far Cassandra hadn’t questioned or called him on it. Probably because the popular homecoming queen didn’t have much interest or pay a lot of attention to her boyfriend’s personal affairs. The 19-year-old playboy thespian hoped and prayed that lucky streak continued and that his friend didn’t get burnt to a crisp by the vindictive vixen of a girlfriend if she ever thought he was cheating on her with Lathal Harvey.
But Malan was definitely not a cheater. Despite the fact he hadn’t really been in love or had any chemistry with his girlfriend and the awkward, rocky, turbulent nature of their relationship that had never lasted longer than a few months the young actor had always remained loyal to his girlfriends in the romantic relationships he’d had in the past; he hadn’t had that many relationships with women maybe a hand full. His current relationship with Cassandra LaBrie was no exception except how he hadn’t been happy in it and he had been wanting to get out of it since almost its inception; Billy knew that because he’d been pretty vocal about it.
Before Malan had had an opportunity to retort, Paul Lerm had come up behind them. The show’s star noticed the professor and wondered how long the educator had been standing there waiting to talk to them. “Hey Paul!” He greeted the older man warmly and looked away to hid the sheepish embarrassed expression on his face. “I’m sorry for being so off tonight.”
“Posh!” The British man’s accent crisply came across in each letter he uttered. “It was hardly you at all, Malan. It was Jayne.” His wife of more than 20 years, Jayne Lerm was the president of NCTU. “She called during the rehearsal to remind me about a faculty meeting at noon tomorrow that unfortunately as a dean I can’t get out of,” He sighed deeply. Both young actors laughed softly because they knew how much their beloved professor hated meetings. “I reminded her of our usual noon lunch date but she told me we can forgo that for one day. She also told me she’s been married to me for two decades and knows how I operate so well.” The professor exactly imitated his wife’s voice. “Therefore, I better not find or have any excuses to get out of the meeting.”
The two young men exchanged looks imaging some of the excuses their professor had used to get out of faculty meetings in the past. “That’s brutal, Man!” Billy remarked; the threesome laughed for a long moment.
Clutching his clipboard to his chest, the professor regarded the two friends. “Have the two of you made a decision yet about doing summer stock like I have been talking to you both about?”
“We wanted to, Paul,” Malan replied. He couldn’t speak for Billy but when his friend didn’t correct his statement so that meant his friend had wanted to perform in summer stock as much as he had. “But without asking us for permission or to see if we’d made other plans, Capt. Dominquez, our ROTC unit commander, signed us up to do a service work type gig as camp counselors at some Christian camp on Lake Worth this summer.”
“Pity!” Paul remarked his tone both disappointed but understanding. “Well, there are other summers so I suppose there will be other opportunities.” The professor smiled at them; they returned his smile with ones of their own.
As Billy and the professor continued to talk, Malan excused himself hurrying back stage to his dressing room. After closing the door, he closed his eyes and took several deep cleansing breathes. Divorcing his character, he peeled off the pieces of his costume and became himself again. He kept his dressing room neat, clean and organized. The 18-year-old actor pulled plastic hangers from the small closet inside which he hung the pieces of his costume in the far corner of his dressing room. His personal hygiene items such as shaving cream, razor, comb and cologne along with his bound books with Shakespeare’s and other playwrights’ plays were neatly arranged on the wooden desk in front of the mirror. If anyone wanted to test it, he or she was able to bounce a quarter off the small bed made in military style. The only messy area in the dressing room was the curved mirror in front of the wooden desk. Lathal’s pictures, her newspaper articles, copies of her essays, poetry or anything she’d written that he’d managed to get his hands on or through their mutual friend Tanya Smith were plastered all over most of the glass. Only a small circular hole in the glass had been left for him to check himself over, which he rarely bothered to do.
Malan showered, trying to wash away the stress and fatigue associated with playing another leading role. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for a month, but "the show must go on". Going over his lines, he welcomed the warm water running over his medium frame, soothing the aches from the knots of tension and stress. Arching his neck, he closed his eyes and turned to let the droplets pummel his shoulders. Though not particularly muscular, at five foot six inches his upper body was nicely toned with only a few extra pounds here and there. His size made him stand out a bit, and people often commented about his fresh, youthful appearance. While some might find it flattering, it was a sort of a detriment as far as he was concerned.
Because of his size and appearance, almost everyone seemed to assume that he was younger than his 18 years. It was sometimes a source of frustration in having to prove himself time and again to be taken seriously, even with his peers in the acting community. He worked hard at his craft, determined that people would one day notice him for his talent and skill, instead of his height and exterior.
After he finished, he noticed how deathly quiet the theater and his dressing room seemed. Aside from Paul, he had to be the only one left in the theater. Knowing Paul was waiting to lock up; he hurriedly changed into his usual jeans and polo shirt. As he reached the theater’s back door exit at last, the professor smiled at his favorite student, "Last one again, Malan?”
Running his fingers through his wet layered brown hair, Malan mumbled, "Yeah, sorry."
Paul grinned, "Don't apologize. I know how it is. Sometimes I feel like I live here."
Malan smiled; the two men left the building together and exchanged goodbyes.
His convertible was waiting where he left it, in a spot near the theater's back door. He heard the familiar loud rhythmic zooms from a Harley, Billy, clad in his usual black jacket and matching outfit and boots, rode to the theater on occasion. The bike peeled out of the theater parking lot; he’d waved but wasn’t sure his friend had seen him or not but that didn’t matter Billy knew he’d be meeting at Misty Memories for dinner in a few minutes. The professor’s car that had pulled out of the parking lot at the same time Billy had departed. As soon as the vehicles disappeared from view, he finished walking the remaining few feet to his car. Sensing someone lingering near his car watching him in the darkness, his body bristled with suspicion and awareness and his stance became guarded as he scanned the parking lot but he only saw shadows under the illumination of the theater’s and parking lot’s lighting
He reasoned a combination of both his fatigue and hunger was making him jumpy and had triggering any suspicious feelings of being stalked or watched. Sighing, he tried to shake off the feeling but was unsuccessful. Unlocking the driver’s side door with his key and then opening it, he heard a voice from behind him on the left side called his name with clear distaste "Hamel."
Turning slowly toward the sound of his name, he couldn't make out the stranger until Kurt Blackenridge stepped into the faded glow of the overhead lights illuminating the parking lot. Though they hadn't spoken before, he recognized the man immediately and it wasn't a welcome surprise. Although he could have sworn he’d seen Kurt, clad in a well tailored and made gray suit that was wrinkled after he’d worn it all day, slumped in a chair in the center of the second row on the right side of the stage watching the rehearsals, but Malan hadn’t been sure. He hadn’t really been paying that much attention to the preppy blonde reporter; he’d pretty much forgotten the journalism major had been at the theater in an official capacity.
To be fair he really didn’t know the man and didn’t have a specific reason to dislike him, but the mere sight of him was enough to bring up a strong repulsion and dislike. From the rumors he’d heard around campus, the feelings of dislike the 19-year-old freshman and The Review reporter had for him were mutual; Kurt Blackenridge didn’t know him at all either.
But the latest campus gossip he’d heard bothered him the most regarding the lanky, blonde-haired, preppy, ambitious reporter having more than a working relationship with his freshman journalistic colleague, Lathal Harvey. His fists balled into tight fists as Malan stared at Kurt seething in anger. It had never occurred to him that Lathal would go for the kind of guy he thought the preppy reporter was; he honestly couldn't figure out what she saw in the young phony who propped himself up with the right car, attire or girl. She'd always seemed simple and down to Earth, not hung up on appearances or material possessions, but then he wondered how much he really knew about her these days. They hadn't talked or hung around each other, sometimes with their friends and others alone together, like they frequently used to do in a long time. Maybe she wasn't so different from every other woman on campus after all; he had a hard time believing that.
Mostly the fairer sex was involved with the preps, jocks and Greeks, and weren't interested in nerdy or artistic types. Girls usually didn't chase after or date guys like him. He'd be the last one they'd want or pick as a boyfriend. Except Cassandra, his current girlfriend, which in his opinion was really a stretch because he didn’t really think the stunningly beautiful cheerleader had chased after or won him over as a result of having any romantic interests or attraction for him.
Most women wanted men with fast cars or loads of money to keep them in the comfort and style they were accustomed, and he had neither. As far as he was concerned, he had nothing to offer. They seemed to prefer tall, dark, and handsome he definitely didn't fit that description. Malan knew he was short, bland and average looking. They also liked men who were confident and assertive, while he was definitely shy and very reserved.
Lathal was his idea of perfection. She was soft, warm, intelligent, passionate, gorgeous, and ambitious. It was such a shame that she could only see him as a friend. Personally, if he were free to pursue it and not entangled in a relationship with a woman he didn’t really want at the moment, she'd be much more than that. That was if he could quit shyly and subtly dancing around the reality and truth of his feelings. He had waited lying in the weeds waiting for the right opportunity, hoping he’d get up the nerve to ask her to go out on dates with him as her boyfriend like he wanted. Then the blonde beauty would see that he was her Mr. Right, and he was standing right in front of her, not this stuck up blonde bastard in front of him.
His fists still clenched, he tried to keep calm blowing his anger out in long, slow breaths but it didn’t seem to help. God he wished he knew some way to make her realize that they were meant to be together, but he had really mucked things up in that regard. He was with Cassandra so Lathal had every right to pursue and date whomever she wished or wanted. Damn it! His brown eyes scanned the reporter’s lanky frame with distaste and disgust. How could her heart belong to this Asshole? He didn’t want her dating another man unless it was him. He certainly didn’t want her going out on dates or having Kurt Blackenridge as a boyfriend.
"What do you want, Blackenridge?" he asked annoyed. He was too tired and hungry to deal with this now.
"You think you're some sort of hot shot, don't you?" Kurt retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Compared to the campus rumors and gossip perpetuated by the actor’s friends. The 19-year-old blonde reporter didn’t subscribe to campus gossip and rumors he tended to gravitate toward the truth and facts like any journalist would; the young reporter felt he knew more of the truth than the actor did. Kurt had constantly heard Lathal gush about how she felt about the actor at work at numerous occasions and it made him sick. Her bluish green eyes danced with pleasure whenever she talked about the young man standing in front of her; watching the displays were completely disgusting. From what he understood, she had loved Malan and wanted to have a relationship with him since their high school days and fate had intervened in bringing them together again in college for a second chance at having a romantic relationship. But his colleague seemed to believe that what was meant to be just hadn’t happened yet. The reporter wondered if his colleague realized that yet was more likely never considering Hamel was dating Cassandra LaBrie.
Why Lathal was still pining away, devoting herself to waiting for this one man, longing to have a relationship with her beloved Malan Hamel made no sense to Kurt. Personally, he thought the nerdy actor must be incredibly stupid to let a sweet, intelligent, caring, beautiful woman like Lathal get away from him. Twice! He’d heard Hamel was shy but he couldn’t be that shy if he was dating a knockout bomb shell like cheerleader Cassandra Labrie. The freshman reporter wished Lathal would listen to him when he’d told her to completely forget and give up on the chance she’d have a romantic relationship with the actor. If he was her, he would have already have dropped Malan without a second thought. If she’d asked his opinion, he would have suggested Lathal try dating him. At least he’d respect her, treat her well and right if not better than Malan Hamel ever would.
Sighing, Malan leaned against his car door, causing it to shut. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he said evenly, "And I'd appreciate it if you'd stop stalking me. If I see you at rehearsal one more time, I'm calling the cops."
"It's my job to cover the theater," the young journalist said with an air of importance. "You're not as big a star as you seem to think. You can't pick and choose who writes stories about these shows. The Review only sends the best to do a job like this, and that's me."
Anger flashed across Malan's brown eyes at the snob. Unlike this man, he never rubbed his success or fame in anyone's face, and he never used it get popularity. He laughed at the pompous fool, "If that was the case they'd send Lathal. She's a lot better than you." Her beautiful smiling face flashed in his mind and he could feel his cheeks and ears grow warm with the very thought of her.
As the actor turned back toward his car, Kurt pointed a finger at him, saying, "You leave her out of this."
"Whatever." Malan dismissed the reporter with a wave of his hand, and reached to open his door again.
As the young actor turned away, Kurt acted swiftly determined to teach Malan a few lessons about romancing and treating women, particularly Lathal. Closing the distance between them, he drove his clenched fist into Malan's side. The actor winced as a sharp pain radiated through the right side of his body; it took him a moment to recover his breath and composure. Glaring at him, Malan thought the young man looked pretty stupid dancing around like he was some professional boxer. Although the two men had the same builds, at six foot Kurt towered over him. Still Malan felt pretty confident he could handle the man, but he really didn’t want to fight him. The fact was, with his military training and his innate dislike of this man, he could do some serious damage, and being so fatigued he was afraid he might lose his usual control.
His fists poised in front of his face, the reporter goaded, "Come on, Hamel. Show me what you got."
Malan eyed his attacker with contempt, a slight sneer on his face. The natural instinctive dislike and repulsion for the preppy reporter made him really want to lay into the man; he knew the trouble fighting would bring so he wanted to avoid that. "No thanks." He turned away, in no mood or condition to fight, but then Kurt rushed at him, catching him off balance, and knocked him to the ground. A flurry of blows rained on Malan's face as he attempted to protect himself with his hands and arms. He winced as a fist found a hole in his shield and slammed into his right eye, making him gasp in pain.
That did it. His hand-to-hand combat training came to the fore, and Malan instinctively locked his hands together as he thrust them upward into the young journalist's nose.
"Ooh." Reeling, his competitor covered his nose and mouth. Blood trickled from the reporter’s nostrils. "You broke my nose!"
"Serves you right," he muttered, shoving the lanky blond off him. Part of him wanted to just pound into the guy, to release all of the frustrations that had been weighing on him, but he’d regained his control and calmly stood up.
"You're going to pay for this," Kurt warned as he brushed himself off and then veered off on a southern path that led into the darkness.
At the moment the reporter’s threats and the trouble he was in for fighting the reporter were the least of his worries. With his eye constantly tearing, Malan was having trouble seeing. He knew he couldn't drive home like that. He had to do something. An ice pack would take care of the problem, but the only place they had them was at the student clinic and it wasn't open at this time of night. So that left him only one place to turn.
Despite the blur, he managed to creep to the dorms at the end of the street. On the corner stood Carnie Hall where his friends, Lathal Harvey and Tanya Smith lived. As he climbed to the fifth floor, female collegiate dorm residents, clad in robes, pajamas, towels and glitzy party dresses and shoes, shot him appreciative looks, whistled or made cat calls but he ignored them all. He felt his way to the end of the hall to their room and softly rapped on their door. The bolt slid back as Lathal opened it, though the chain kept it from opening completely. Peering through the crack, her worried expression turned to one of surprise. "Malan, what are you doing here? Do you have any idea what time it?"
He glanced at her. Apparently she hadn’t been expecting anyone because she was dressed in more comfortable attire. She had on a faded white tank top, gray shorts, and black flip-flops. Her golden hair was worn back in a ponytail.
She seemed unaware of her beauty; her casual, relaxed appearance turned him on. He licked his lips as he noticed her piqued nipples poking the fabric and he wondered if she was wearing a bra; he was tempted to find out.
Just thinking about ripping off her clothing and making her hot and bothered excited him. He imagined her moaning, writhing beneath him as he showered her with hot, wet kisses and caressed every inch of her milky white skin until she was begging him to make love to her. While he wanted to be romantically involved with her, there was always something that seemed to stand in their way, whether it was his inhibitions or hers. They'd had many chances and he keeping waiting for some sign, but the right moment just hadn't presented itself yet.
This wasn’t the time. He regretted not knowing what could have been between them, but once again circumstances were complicating matters to the point that friendship was the only option. This just wasn’t the time to deal with his feelings or what might have been. He flushed in embarrassment. "I know it's late, but it's kind of an emergency."
After removing the chain, she ushered him inside. His gaze swept across their small living quarters that consisted of two beds on opposite sides, a small refrigerator, a couple of dressers and night stands, lamps, a closet and a bathroom. Based on the books and papers he saw scattered around her laptop, he assumed she was writing poetry or one of her stories or novels. Surely she wouldn’t be doing homework or studying in the dorms on a Friday night. That would be a real shame! Still he was hardly one to criticize because he’d entertained the same notion earlier.
Unable to resist the powerful desires and urges he had to read her work, his fingers brushed the edges of the pieces of notebook paper, picking up a few sheets and starting to read. She gently swatted his hands causing him to drop the pages. “Utt. No, no. No spoilers. At least not until I’m finished with it.”
From his spot at the edge of her bed, he looked at her with dejected disappointment because he hadn’t read much; he’d liked what he had read. How did she know he read her work?
Noticing the blood stains on his hands, arms and shirt and the fresh, glaring, harsh reddening area around his right eye that was starting to bruise, she cringed. Her fingertips gently examined his injury. To soothe the pain and heat, her light breath softly blew over his hurt. “That’s quite a shiner you’re going to have on opening night.”
As he basked in her attentions, he hoped he’d see her opening night. “I know,” he murmured clearly unhappy about it. Paul wasn’t going to be too happy about it or with him when he found out.
Her journalist instinct kicked in "What happened?"
He tried to force a smile. "I got into a fight."
"Do I want to know with whom?" He remained silent; she hadn’t really expect him to answer. "Let me get some ice for that." Lathal moved over to the small refrigerator sitting in a dark far corner of the room and emptied cubes from the ice tray into a plastic baggie.
Having him sitting in her room reawakened those old familiar pains that came with the knowledge that he'd never see her as a woman or a love interest. He always seemed to turn to her whenever he was in trouble, wanted help with his studies or just needed a friend. She wanted more than a friendship, but he wasn't interested in her in that way.
How could he be? He was dating Cassandra LaBrie. Curvaceous and stunning, she was not only the head cheerleader and homecoming queen, but she was one of the most popular sorority sisters on the North Central Texas University campus.
How could she compete with that? There was nothing special about Lathal Harvey. Her hair, nails and makeup paled in comparison to the vivacious vixen that probably spent tons of money and several hours every week at the beauty parlor, to enhance her features. Not to mention the rich girl's clothing came straight out of a fashion catalog and she had to buy hers on sale in local discount stores. She always made an effort to appear professional and presentable, even when she was casually dressed, but fashion wasn't exactly her forte and she was so far from the level of glamour of someone like Miss Cassandra LaBrie. Even now, dressed in her usual bedclothes, she felt unkempt and beneath the level of sophistication other women seemed to portray. How could he possibly see her as someone worthy of being on his arm when she was so plain?
Sighing, she knew she shouldn't feel sorry for herself because it wouldn't change anything. She never was going to be a beauty queen. The only thing that she had going for her was her personality and smarts. Aside from Cassandra’s wealth and beauty, she didn't understand what he saw in her, but it seemed every guy on campus wanted her on his arm. In fact, he was probably fighting with someone over her.
Part of her thought that half of the guys on campus were a bunch of Neanderthals constantly fighting for rank and position, and for the right to have some bubbly tart hang on their arms like a status symbol. It served them all right if they got their butts kicked once in awhile. Maybe a couple of bumps to the head might knock some sense into them and they’d see what they were doing to themselves fighting over someone who couldn’t see past her own reflection.
Her attention back to her patient, she pressed the bag to his eye. He flinched and breathed out with the pain, and she realized she probably pushed too hard. Pulling her hand back, she demurely looked away to hide her guilt. "Sorry."
She’d looked at him with such kindness and it had warmed his heart. Then his mind went back to the jerk he’d just fought with. Kurt would probably come to her for the same comforting before the night was over, and no doubt she’d lavish much more attention on him, and take greater care not to add to the pain as she’d just done with him.
He snatched the cold compress from her. "I'll do it myself. Thank you."
It was his fault for being too nice. He should have laid into the guy, but then she’d probably hate him for causing her love interest such pain. By morning she would find out the damage he’d done to the reporter and she was going to hate him. She’d been kind of chilly to him lately; soon enough she’d be furious with him. The man was probably in the emergency room at that very minute. Any second now she’d get the call to come to him. Oh, why did he come? It pained him to know she’d probably never talk to him again.
"Fine," she said backing away. Lathal felt bad for him and worse for having added to the injury. She had to resist the urge to kiss it better; he obviously didn’t want her so close anyway, making that kind of overture would surely make him avoid her like the plague.
"Fine," he retorted. Malan wasn't about to sit here and let her push him away as she usually did. Even the thought of seeing a pained expression in those eyes would crush him, better to avoid her altogether. Wordlessly he rose and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Shaken after the brief tense interlude, Lathal sat on her bed composing herself for a few minutes and then rose and walked to her dorm window that had a view of one of the campus main streets. After a few minutes, the reporter saw Malan appear; as he walked away his cell phone attached to his ear. The actor was probably talking to his girlfriend asking if he could come get over and some sympathy. The idea made her stomach take a sickening turn.
At that moment, Tanya entered wrapped in a towel. Having just finished her shower she’d now start dressing for her date with her boyfriend Bryant Johnson that night. "What was that all about?"
Sinking down on the bed, she sighed, "Malan. You know the routine."
Joining her on the bed, her roommate and best friend laid her hand on Lathal's knee. "Wanna talk about it?"
Tears welled in her eyes and she looked away. "Why should I? It never helps."
“Girl." The word rumbled in the air for a long moment. "Men don't get anything unless you spell it out for them."
Lathal's misty bluish-green eyes searched her best friend's face. "What do you mean?"
"You can't keep beating around the bush. You have to speak up," the young dancer told her matter-of-factly. "You have to tell him how you feel. If you don't you'll always wonder what could have happened."
"It's not that simple," Lathal shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes. "Maybe I should have become a nun.”
Wrapping her arms around her, Tanya whispered. "It'll be alright. You'll see."
**
Lucas Grove was among one of the favorite places students liked to go on campus because the Student Union and various department buildings where classes are held are within the vicinity. On top of that, the grove has a great view of the entire campus and students usually ran into friends there.
Today it was the best and one of only a few spots on campus where the young actor could hide out unnoticed and lie low that Monday morning three days after he and The Review reporter Kurt Blackenridge had duked it out in the campus theater parking lot. Scuttlebutt regarding that fight had spread like wildfire around campus; the stories about what had occurred are getting wilder and crazier as well as more exaggerated and ridiculous with each telling; now it was all basically lies. He wanted to scream out the truth but at that point he doubted not too many people would save for his true friends, Lathal, Billy, Tanya and others.
He sat on a gray granite bench on the top of a high berm behind a tall, thick oak tree in the grove. His shades covered the nasty shiner he sported as he sat watching students studying nearby or walking through the grove. His attention should be on his astronomy notes and textbook sprawling across his lap because he had a test in that class later that afternoon but he was really distracted that day. Particularly by beautiful, intellectual, talented, young journalism student who also in the grove that morning. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell if she was studying or writing.
The shadow of a familiar figure eclipsed him and didn’t ask if he could have permission to join him. His hands went to the frames of his friend’s sunglasses and lowered them enough to assess the damage. “Ooo,” Billy cringed. “There’s a beauty!”
“Yeah. Well, I think his injury was worse.” He remarked dryly.
“So I heard.” Billy beamed with pride. “I also heard you and him were fighting over Lathal Harvey.”
“Where did you hear that?” Before his friend had a chance to reply, Malan saw his girlfriend chatting with Lathal who looked upset and unhappy about the interaction. “Shit!” On impulse and feeling the need to drag the vindictive woman away from his heart’s desire, the young actor rose and started surging forward.
Billy laid a hand on his friend’s arm. “Easy, Romeo. You’re supposed to be laying low remember?”
The young actor wore a grumpy, upset expression as he sat back down. He gestured toward Cassandra. “I’m sick and tired of her shit.”
“Dump her, Malan. The sooner you get rid of her, the better because then you’ll be free to have the woman you truly want.”
How many times had his friend given him this same advice? Maybe this time he should listen and take him up on it.
**
Sitting on a bench in the shade of a tree in Lucas Grove, the young reporter was reading "The Federalist Papers" for her American history class as she waited for Tanya. A feeling of foreboding followed the sound of footsteps that approached and stopped a few feet away. Without looking, she’d immediately recognized the snotty, cultured tone of Cassandra LaBrie commenting, "I heard your boyfriend broke his nose."
Closing her eyes for a moment Lathal willed the woman and her entourage away. The unmistakable giggle of her clique only encouraged her as she quickly added, "I hear he fought like a girl, and frail little boy that he is, broke like a twig."
While to some a bad reputation was something to avoid, to this woman it was a source of pride.
Her entire collegiate experience was little more than a source of entertainment. There she found in her fellow students an unending flow of new specimens to use as victims for torture or as a healthy stock with which to meet her base physical need for stimulation, as the campus became her own private sexual playground.
The spoiled, rich Daddy’s girl had a list longer than Santa’s, and it bothered Lathal that Malan was the next conquest. If the rumors were anything to go by, though he was the favorite pet at the moment, she kept an ample supply in reserve, pulling a new one out daily like she was picking out an accessory to match the day’s outfit. She made no secret of it either.
Of all the girls on campus, he’d chosen the worst example of their entire sex. Cassandra was manipulative, stuck up and superficial. It seemed money, power, fame and success were all that mattered, in fact, she often came right out and said as much. Insulting and humiliating anyone not in her immediate social circle was like a sport; from appearance to pedigree, to majors, nothing was off limits, and it seemed to give her a great deal of pleasure. To make things worse, she wasn’t above starting vicious rumors with a few well-placed lies. In her wake lay more than a few people that had actually left school, rather than try to survive the aftermath.
Her attacks were usually scathing, and her skills were legendary on campus. Unwary freshmen to seniors, they were all victims of her insults. That venomous tongue lashed everyone equally, and neither Lathal nor Tanya had been immune to the woman’s belittling and spiteful commentary.
Though the friends never had reason to speak to her, let alone get to know her in any way, she seemed to seek them out, like now. Carefully marking a spot with her bookmark, she glared up at Cassandra, "He’s not my boyfriend."
"Right! Your lover then," The diva rolled her eyes, "I can’t imagine any man would choose someone as vanilla as you, but I think even Kurt could do better. A man needs a woman, not some child who thinks she can play with the big boys."
Lathal worried for a moment what she meant by it, but a quiet voice inside said, Don't listen to her. Don't let her know she has any power over you. If she knows you're affected by her words, she'll continue to antagonize you. The woman probably couldn't spell her own name; it is best to just ignore her. Refusing the give her any satisfaction with a reply, the blonde opened her book and acted oblivious that she was still there.
Snubbed, the beauty haughtily tossed a strand of her dark, well cared for hair over her shoulder and gestured for her friends to follow. As they walked away, she heard them whispering and knew they were talking about her.
"Hey, Girl," Tanya called brightly as she came up the path a moment later. "Are you ready to go to lunch?" Following her friend’s gaze, as the rich girl and her clique strolled along the sidewalk, she was clearly as annoyed and frustrated. "Was she starting with you again?"
Thinking she might be about to say something to them, Lathal stopped her. "Don't worry about them," she advised. "I’m fine."
Allowing her voice to carry, the dark beauty called out, hoping they’d hear, "What goes around comes around, ya know?" Quietly adding, "Miss Thing will get hers; you best know that's a fact!"