Oh, Murderer Mine | Page 7

think he must have been a nice man before all this happened to him."
"He was anyway a damned good biochemist," Beulah Porter Cowys added.
"What do you teach?" Doan asked.
"Elementary physics. Very dull stuff."
A man came running up the front steps of the building and bounced through the front door. He sensed that there was someone in front of him, and he stopped so quickly he skidded, peering at them in a myopically eager way. He was all hands and feet and freckles, and his red hair was slicked down painfully flat except for three clumps at the back that stuck out like an un-trimmed hedge. He spotted Melissa and gave another bounce and an embarrassed gulp.
"Oh! Hello, hello! Hello, Melissa! I was just going to drop into your office and--and say hello."
"You'd better say it here," Melissa advised. "My office has been liberated."
"Really?"
"Yes. The enemy is in possession."
"What enemy?"
"A party known as Handsome Lover Boy, alias Eric Trent."
"Trent," said the newcomer. "Oh, yes. He's the new meteorology man. I met him at the faculty lunch yesterday. He's very nice."
"He is not!"
"Isn't he?" the man asked anxiously.
"No! He's a boor and--and a cad!"
"Really?" said the man. "Was he rude to you, Melissa? Shall I go up and hit him in the face?"
"Never mind," Melissa said. "Mr. Doan, this is Frank Ames. He's an assistant professor of English. Mr. Doan is Handsome Lover Boy's bodyguard, Frank."
"How odd," Ames said absently. "Melissa, you haven't forgotten, have you? Tonight, I mean? Our date?"
"No, Frank. Just see that you don't forget..."
"I certainly wouldn't forget anything that concerned you or--Oh! Your letter!" He commenced to fumble through his pockets. "It was in your slot over at Administration... I put it somewhere I wouldn't lose...Here!"
Melissa took the letter and opened it. "Well, well. A personal missive from the president's office, if you please. And signed by T. Ballard Bestwyck in person or a rubber stamp...Oh! Ooooooh!"
"What?" asked Beulah Porter Cowys.
"Gluck-gluck-gluck," Melissa said in frustrated incoherence. "Cluck! It says I have to exchange apartments in Pericles Pavilion with that--that--that--with Handsome Lover Boy because the one I'm in is a double and his is a single and he needs more room! Just after I've gotten mine decorated to suit me! I won't do it! I--will--not--do--it!"
"Oh, yes, you will," said Beulah Porter Cowys.
"Why?" Melissa demanded defiantly.
"Because T. Ballard Bestwyck told you to, and T. Ballard Bestwyck sits at God's right hand."
"Oh, damn!" said Melissa. "Oh, double damn-damn-damn!"
* * *
The moon was riding high, red and fat and swollen with its own importance, when Frank Ames' dusty little coupe puttered up the hill and pulled into the curb opposite the Pericles Pavilion.
Frank Ames turned off the coupe's motor. He swallowed and took three long, deep breaths and then turned and stared at Melissa in a portentously concentrated manner. Melissa sighed and wiggled a little on the slippery seat. She knew what was coming. It always did.
"Melissa," said Frank Ames, "I have a very serious matter which I wish to present to you for your consideration. I wish to ask you--to entreat you--"
"Thank you for the dinner and the movie," Melissa said.
"No," said Frank Ames. "I mean, it was a pleasure, but that isn't what I wanted to--"
"I had a very nice time," Melissa told him.
"What? Oh, that's nice, but Melissa, I feel that you and I are ideally constituted to embark upon--"
Melissa opened the door on her side. "Don't bother to come in with me, Frank. It's late, and I know you're as tired as I am. The first day of the quarter is always a bore, isn't it?"
"What? Yes. Yes, indeed. But, Melissa, I haven't had a chance to tell you how I feel about--"
"Goodnight, Frank," said Melissa. "I've really got to run."
"But--but--but--"
"See you tomorrow!" said Melissa.
"Oh," said Frank Ames glumly, "Drat."
Melissa ran across the street. The Pericles Pavilion, in spite of its classically resounding title, was nothing but a small apartment house, a little ragged and run down at the heels. There was no point in keeping it up to snuff, because it had no competition, and besides no one but a few instructors and assistants lived there. It belonged to the university, and hence it came under the autocratic direction of T. Ballard Bestwyck, who subscribed to the theory that the payment of the most rent possible entitled the payer to the least comfort feasible because it was obvious to him that no one but an idiot would pay rent in the first place.
Melissa pushed through the squeaky double door and went on through the narrow L-shaped lobby and up the scuffed stairs to the second floor. She hadn't moved out of her apartment as yet. She knew very well that there was no question of whether she would move--just a matter of when. But nonetheless she was