'Does he rip off their clothes and do unspeakably kinky stuff?' she said.
'Often,' I said.
'My God, he's here,' she said.
'Want me to come over?'
'Hell no,' she said. 'Leave us alone.'
She giggled again, blatantly now, into the phone.
'Oh hell,' I said, 'let me speak to him.'
In a moment Hawk said, 'Hello.'
'I'm going down to Henry's and set new records on the Nautilus,' I said. 'If you're not at the moment of climax perhaps you'd care to stroll along and learn something.'
I heard Hawk speak off the phone. 'He worried,' Hawk said, 'that we at the moment of climax.'
I hung up and headed out to the gym. The sex fiend joined me in the hall. 'Jealousy an ugly thing,' he said.
26
WITHOUT Dwayne, Taft won the Big East with an overtime at the buzzer victory over Syracuse and headed into the NCAA Tournament. Dwayne dressed for every game and sat on the end of the bench farthest from Dixie. The question was on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and the talk shows rang with it. Why isn't Dwayne Woodcock playing? Dwayne wasn't saying and neither was Dixie Dunham. The pro teams, Dixie said, were on his case worse than the press. Was there a reason that Dwayne shouldn't be drafted? Did he have a drug problem? Was there an injury? Taft's chances of getting to the final four without Dwayne were worse than my chances had been that day I fought Walcott.
Every day Dwayne showed up for practice. Every day he worked as hard as he always did. Nights he stayed in his condo with Chantel. Hawk and I had taken to trailing along behind him.
'Figure now that he ain't playing and can't help them,' Hawk said, 'might occur to them that he can hurt them.'
'So we watch his back to protect him from people that you're watching my back to protect me from,' I said.
'You get into weird shit,' Hawk said.
We followed Dwayne around for most of that week when I saw Dixie after practice.
'Cort wants to see you,' Dixie said. 'Says if I see you to tell you to get on up to his office now.'
'Gulp,' I said.
Dixie kept on walking toward the locker room. Dwayne passed me without looking at me and went into the locker room behind Dixie. I left Hawk watching Dwayne and walked up across campus toward the President's office. I was aware that Hawk wasn't behind me and I could feel the muscles bunch in my shoulders as I walked across the unsheltered quadrangle.
In the outer office of President Cort, June Merriman looked pleased when I came in.
'Well, where have you been? President Cort has been trying to reach you for two days.'
'Mostly I was home,' I said, 'playing with my knuckle knife collection.'
'I'll tell the President you're here,' she said. 'Mr. Morton is with him! And Mr. Haller!'
'Wait, let me catch my breath,' I said.
June pressed the intercom like someone lining up three cherries on a slot machine.
'Mr. Spenser has arrived,' she said.
I couldn't hear the response, but she could and she said, 'They'll see you right now,' and stood and walked to the door to Cort's office and ushered me in, gladly.
Cort was at his desk looking serious. Morton was standing at the window gazing down at the campus. Haller was sitting on a couch against the wall with his feet on the coffee table. He looked amused.
Cort looked up at me for a long silent moment. Morton turned from the window frowning. I bore it stoutly.
'I'd like a full report, please,' Cort said. He had on a double breasted gray pinstripe suit and a large silk foulard tie.
'I haven't found out anything,' I said.
'That's your idea of a full report?'
'Often,' I said, 'I'm referred to as the great compressionist.'
Haller recrossed his legs on the coffee table. 'You've practically pillaged our student personnel records. You badgered a large number of faculty members, Dwayne Woodcock is now on the bench, Taft is likely to lose the NCAA championship tournament. Neither Dwayne nor Coach Dunham will comment on this. The national press is in full cry.' Cort's voice was a masterful example of emotion under firm control.
'Aw, hell,' I said, 'it wasn't much.'
'You have charged that Dwayne cannot read,' Cort said.
I didn't say anything.
