The Hotel Eden(9)

BARBARA SHOWED THE note to Trish, her best friend.

REASONS YOU SHOULD GO WITH ME

A. You are my lab partner.

B. Just to see. (You too, even Barbara Anderson, contain the same restless germ of curiosity that all humanity possesses, a trait that has led us out of the complacency of our dark caves into the bright world where we invented bowling—among other things.)

C. It’s not a “date.”

“Great,” Trish said. “We certainly believe this! But, girl, who wants to graduate without a night out with a bald whatever. And I don’t think he’s going to ravish you—against your will, that is. Go for it. We’ll tell Brian that you’re staying at my house.”

KEITH DROVE A Chevy pickup, forest-green, and when Barbara climbed in, she asked, “Why don’t you drive this to school?”

“There’s a bus. I love the bus. Have you ever been on one?”

“Not a school bus.”

“Oh, try it,” he said. “Try it. It’s so big and it doesn’t drop you off right at your house.”

“You’re weird.”

“Why? Oh, does the bus go right to your house? Come on, does it? But you’ve got to admit they’re big, and that yellow paint job? Show me that somewhere else, I dare you. Fasten your seat belt, let’s go.”

The evening went like this: Keith turned onto Bloomfield, the broad business avenue that stretched from near the airport all the way back to the university, and he told her, “I want you to point out your least favorite building on this street.”

“So we’re not going bowling?”

“No, we’re saving that. I thought we’d just get a little something to eat. So, keep your eyes open. Any places you can’t stand?” By the time they reached the airport, Barbara had pointed out four she thought were ugly. When they turned around, Keith added: “Now, your final choice, please. And not someplace you just don’t like. We’re looking for genuine aversion.”

Barbara selected a five-story metal building near downtown, with a simple marquee above the main doors that read INSURANCE.

“Excellent,” Keith said as he swung the pickup to the curb. He began unloading his truck. “This is truly garish. The architect here is now serving time.”

“This is where my father used to work.”

Keith paused, his arms full of equipment. “When…”

“When he divorced my mom. His office was right up there.” She pointed. “I hate driving by this place.”

“Good,” Keith said with renewed conviction. “Come over here and sit down. Have a Coke.”

Barbara sat in a chaise longue that Keith had set on the floodlit front lawn next to a folding table. He handed her a Coke. “We’re eating here?”

“Yes, miss,” he said, toting over the cooler and the little propane stove. “It’s rustic but traditional: cheese omelets and hash brown potatoes. Sliced tomatoes for a salad with choice of dressing, and—for dessert—ice cream. On the way home, of course.” Keith poured some oil into the frying pan. “There is nothing like a meal to alter the chemistry of a place.”

On the way home, they did indeed stop for ice cream, and Barbara asked him: “Wasn’t your hair long last year, like in your face and down like this?” She swept her hand past his eye.

“It was.”

“Why is it so short now?”

Keith ran his hand back over his head. “Seasonal cut. Summer’s a-coming in. I want to lead the way.”

IT WAS AN odd week for Barbara. She actually did feel different about the insurance building as she drove her scooter by it on the way to school. When Trish found out about dinner, she said, “That was you! I saw your spread as we headed down to Barney’s. You were like camped out, right?”

Wonder spread on Barbara’s face as she thought it over. “Yeah, it was cool. He cooked.”

“Right. But please, I’ve known a lot of guys who cook and they were some of the slickest. High School Confidential says: ‘There are three million seductions and only one goal.’”

“You’re a cynic.”

“Cynicism is a useful survival skill.”

IN CHEMISTRY, IT was sulfur. Liquid, solid, and gas. The hallways of the chemistry annex smelled like rotten eggs and jokes abounded. Barbara winced through the white wispy smoke as Keith stirred the melting sulfur nuggets.

“This is awful,” Barbara said.

“This is wonderful,” Keith said. “This is the exact smell that greets sinners at the gates of hell. They think it’s awful; here we get to enjoy it for free.”

Barbara looked at him. “My lab partner is a certifiable…”