outgrowth of love. In this case, as should be clear, sex is not identical with lust. Hence the modern distinction made in contemporary parlance between, forgive my vulgarity, fucking and making love. But sex is not identical with love either, as the courtly love tradition demonstrates. One can love one’s friend chastely and passionately without engaging in sexual intercourse with her.
“In Dante’s
“In Dante’s
The lecture hall erupted in polite applause and low murmurings of approval. The Professor then began to field questions from the audience.
In typical fashion, full time faculty members were the first to speak, while graduate students waited patiently for their turn.
(For Academia, like Europe in the Middle Ages, was organized under a class system.)
Julia sat very still, trying to absorb what she thought she’d heard during Gabriel’s lecture. She was repeating some of his more profound statements to herself when Paul leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“Watch this. Emerson is going to ignore Christa.”
From their vantage point, they couldn’t see Christa’s cleavage (which was a mercy). She was still leaning forward, now with her hand in the air, trying to gain The Professor’s attention. He seemed to pass over her deliberately, pointing at other questioners and offering reasoned responses.
Eventually, Professor Martin stood up in order to indicate that question period had come to an end. Only then did Christa lower her hand, a scowl darkening her fine features.
Another round of applause was given and received, and Gabriel stepped off the platform. He was greeted immediately by an average-sized brunette, who looked like she was a professor in her mid to late thirties. The two shook hands.
Paul snorted. “Did you see that? He wasn’t going to allow Christa to ask a question in an open forum. He’s worried she’ll stand up and throw her bra at him, or hold up an ‘I heart Emerson’ poster.”
Julia giggled and watched as the brunette professor chatted with Gabriel before stepping aside to speak to someone else.
“I was surprised no one corrected Emerson on his mistake.” Paul scratched at his sideburns thoughtfully.
“What mistake?”
“He attributed
Julia knew this, of course, but would never have commented on it.
So she remained silent.
Paul shrugged. “I’m sure it was a slip of the tongue. He can quote those texts from memory in Italian and English. I just thought it was funny that Professor Perfect made a very public mistake and no one corrected him.”
He chuckled to himself. “Maybe that was why Christa put up her hand.”
Julia nodded. She knew that Gabriel’s error had been intentional. But she would tell no one, especially not Paul.
His eyes passed over her admiringly. “You look pretty today. You always look pretty, but today you’re just — glowing.” His face morphed into a serious expression. “I hope I’m not stepping on your boyfriend’s toes by telling you that. What was his name again?”
“Owen.”
“Well, I can see it in your eyes. You’re obviously glad to be back together with him. After weeks of seeing you sad, I’m happy that you’re happy.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“So why the dress?”
She peered around the room. “I didn’t know if people dressed up for these occasions. I knew all the professors would be here, and I wanted to look nice.”
Paul laughed. “Most academic women don’t care about fashion.” He shook his head and gently touched her hand. “I hope your ex treats you right this time. Or I’ll have to go to Philadelphia and kick his ass.”
At this point, Julia was only half-listening as she saw a petite blond professor greet Gabriel with a kiss on both cheeks.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise.
Paul muttered something under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Well, the lecture was great. You can see why I came here to work with him.” Paul glanced meaningfully at Gabriel. “But look at them.”
As if on cue, the blond threw her head back and laughed uproariously, while Emerson gave her a tight smile. She was less than five feet tall, with flaxen hair that was pulled back tightly into a severe-looking bun. She wore Armani glasses that were both squarish and red and an expensive-looking black suit highlighted by a tight pencil skirt that barely grazed her knees.
Julia noted also that the woman wore black pumps that were very high and fishnet stockings that would have netted only the tiniest of fish.
The woman was beautiful, but she seemed rather out of place amongst all of the other professional academics. And there was something about her presence that was decidedly aggressive.
“That’s Professor Singer.” Paul grimaced.
“The blonde?”
“Yes. The dark-haired woman to her left is Professor Leaming. She’s great. You need to meet her. But stay away from Singer. She’s a dragon lady.”
Julia’s stomach flipped as she watched Professor Singer grip Gabriel’s forearm in a far too familiar fashion, digging her talons into his suit jacket while she stood on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. His expression remained utterly impassive.
“Why do you say that?” Julia asked.
“Have you seen her website?”
“No.”
“Consider yourself lucky. You’d be shocked by what she’s in to. They call her
Julia reluctantly dragged her eyes away from the sickening display that was The Professors Pain and Emerson show and began wringing her hands.
She wondered if Professor Pain’s first name was Paulina.
Disgusted by the display, she grabbed her coat and stood up. “I guess it’s time for us to leave.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Paul chivalrously helped her with her coat.
They left their seats and were just about to walk toward the exit when Professor Martin, the chair of Italian Studies, caught Paul’s eye, motioning him to come over.
“I’ll just be a minute. Wait for me.”
Julia sat back down, fingering her coat buttons as a distraction.
Gabriel wasn’t looking at her at all, and from his body language she suspected that he was avoiding her. Paul had a brief exchange with the chair before turning around and pointing in her direction. The chair nodded and patted