WW III

“Mogul emperor — sent in forty thousand troops — through the Khyber Pass. Only five came back. That’s why they call it Hindu Kush.”

“That’s awful,” she said, sitting up, pushing her hair back.

“Yeah.”

“See? I told you. Men love war.”

“I’m just trying to help—” His mouth went dry just looking at her. “Any more questions?” he asked raspily. Her nipples were engorged and he felt hard as concrete between her legs. A frown swept over her face and she sat upright, flicking her hair back, a bobby pin in her mouth. “You don’t think there’ll be a war, do you?”

“What — oh, in Korea. There’s already a war.”

“No, I mean a world war?”

“No chance. Nuclear weapons’ll stop it.”

“Nuclear weapons could start it.”

“No, before that they would have to — hey, is this a seminar or what?” He pulled her down to him, running his fingernails gently over her back, dragging them lightly back up to her shoulders and down along her outstretched arms, her murmurs of pleasure making him happy. “Love you, babe,” he said.

“You, too,” she said, and began doing the same for him. He slipped off his watch, hearing it drop softly to the floor. Now she lay down full length on him, moaning softly as he began to move, arching his back, lifting her, all the pressure in her groin. She kissed him wetly, hard, tongue thrusting hard for his. “Don’t — don’t leave me, Davy,” she called softly, gently, lonely as a child in the night.

“I won’t,” he said.

Now he could feel her buttocks, the hard, rounded silkiness rousing him so he doubted he could hold out much longer. She stopped, perfectly still, sensing his razor-edge excitement as he calmed down. Her smell was overwhelming him, and now for a moment, a man possessed beyond his years, his vision blurred, she came back into focus, and he could feel the blood pulsing through him. She raised herself above him using her elbows and began moving rhythmically again side to side, his mouth like a fish gasping for water. She laughed and it relaxed him, his shoulders slumping back, falling on the pillow. She had to be careful — sometimes the slightest giggle could make him angry, as if he thought she was laughing at him instead of with him — for him.

“You’re going—” he stopped to get his breath “—to be late for class.”

“Yes,” she smiled.

“Sweetie — let’s get married now. Today. This afternoon.”

She placed her forefinger gently on the tip of his nose. “No. After we graduate.”

“That’ll be — hell, that’ll be the end of next term. Christmas. I can’t wait that long. I’ll go nuts.”

“No. “

“You’re a hard woman, Melissa Lange.”

“I’m old-fashioned.”

“This isn’t old-fashioned.”

“How do you know? Maybe your parents and mine did it.”

“My dad?” he said disbelievingly. “You’re joking. Mom would never have let him.”

“Oh — they didn’t have sex in the navy?”

“Shore leave,” he said.

“Oh Lord!”

“What?”

“I promised Rick I’d loan him my notes.”

“Stacy? Let him make his own.”

“He was sick last week with the flu.”

“He’ll be all right.”

“What time is it?” she said. She reached over and picked up the watch. “Oh Lord! He’ll be waiting for me at the Student Union Building.”

“Let him wait.”

“I promised, Davy,” but she could see he was getting mad. “You know how you are about promises, Davy.”

“For Stacy?”

“Oh, come on.” She shook his shoulders. “You’d go.”

“No I wouldn’t.”

“You know you would.” She hopped off the bed. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetie. Promise.”

“Why don’t you make it up with Stacy?”

“Davy.”

He slumped back in the bed, throttled a pillow, relaxed his grip, then threw it across the room.

“Listen,” she said, getting dressed as quickly as she could. “Who was the one watching the TV?”

“That was only a minute. You were watching it, too.”

“I certainly was not.”

“The hell you weren’t! You were asking me if they were people.”

“After I’d been waiting for you to come.”

“Don’t be dirty,” he said. “I don’t like it when you talk like that.”

“What? — oh, for Heaven’s sake. You’re the limit. You’re the one with the dirty —”

“All right, all right. Forget it.”

“Okay, I will. See you around. When you grow up.”

He flung the bedding aside. “Fucking Stacy. I’d give him notes. Right in the face.”

“Well, if you’re going to use that language, David…” She was tucking her shirt into her jeans.

“Oh Jesus,” he said, “Little Miss Muffet.”

“You’re so stupid,” she shot back. “There’s nothing between Rick and me.”

“God, you’re blind. I can’t believe it. He wants your notes. You really think that’s all he wants?”

She grabbed her satchel. “Well, if you keep this up, Bub, he might just get it.”

“You—”

“Go on, say it.”

“Nevermind—”

“Say it.”

“Bitch!”

“All right, buster,” she said. “That’s it! See you around.” She stopped at the door and swung about. “And those shorts,” she said, glancing contemptuously down at the red and white striped underpants. “You look like a barbershop. Never seen anything so ridiculous.” She walked out and slammed the door.

* * *

“You hear the news?” asked Rick Stacy, a fourth-year student majoring in commerce and international relations. “What news?” asked Melissa. “The fighting in Korea.”

“Yes,” she said. “Well, now I know how wars start.”

“What do you mean?” he said as he gathered up his things from the plush but grubby Student Union sofa.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Here are my notes.”

“Oh, I already got them from Linda. Thanks anyway.”

“I could strangle you, Richard.”

“What?” he asked, alarmed. “What’d I do?”

“You started a war.”

“Uh-oh. Davy Brentwood. Right?”

“Right.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. Really. I’ll have a talk with him. Set him straight. I am in IR.”

“What?”