introduced me to the people in the biology department as someone fresh off the plane from Western Australia and quite jet-lagged. This gave me a reasonable excuse if I made some awful slipup, such as making a total hash of a biological term, or giving some marsupial the wrong Latin name.
Actually, I was aiming to steer clear of scientific names as much as possible, as my Latin was pretty well limited to
Yesterday, Rube had given me a rundown on who was who in the department, so my main role today was to try to fit names to faces. One person with whom Rube said it was vital I cultivate a working relationship was administrative assistant, Georgia Tapp. She was a plump, motherly woman with faded brown hair, a cloyingly sweet expression, and dimples to rival Lonnie's. Then I met Zoran Pestle, thin and intense, a colleague of Rube's who was on the committee running the symposium.
'And this is Erin Fogarty,' said Rube. 'Erin, meet Kylie Kendall, visiting doctoral student from Australia.'
'G'day,' I said, regarding her with interest. This was the graduate assistant who had upped and shot through on Oscar Braithwaite, only to turn up later here at UCLA, working with Jack Yarrow.
Erin Fogarty was a gangling young woman with a weak chin and high color. Her best feature seemed to be her short, curly hair, which shone with copper highlights.
'Hi,' she said, eyeing me narrowly. 'Will you be working with Professor Yarrow?'
'Kylie is here for ten weeks to work on a research paper with me,' said Rube.
'Great,' Erin said, visibly perking up. It was clear she wanted no competition as far as Professor Yarrow was concerned.
I'd assumed Erin would be an Aussie, since she'd been working out in the field with Oscar in Western Australia, but obviously I was wrong, as this sheila had a twangy American accent.
Rube resumed the introductions to the members of the faculty, with me trotting along compliantly the way I thought a jet-lagged overseas student would. Professor Yarrow himself I glimpsed from afar, rushing along as though on very important business.
'Always in a hurry, like the White Rabbit in Alice,' Rube remarked disparagingly.
'Probably not as lovable,' I said.
'Whoa. Bonus person,' said Rube, catching sight of someone down the hall. I was beginning to really appreciate his wit. 'You're in luck, Kylie. Here comes Winona Worsack, Yarrow's wife, paying an unannounced connubial visit.'
'Unannounced? She doesn't trust the bloke?'
Rube's smile had a touch of malice. 'Not as far as she can throw him. She routinely nurses dark suspicions about any young woman with proximity to her husband.'
As befitting a medievalist, Winona Worsack wore a floor length, flowing dress and had her dark hair loose on her shoulders. She sort of glided along, hands clasped at waist level, as though on hidden wheels. When she got close to us, she switched on a brief smile. 'Rubin.'
'Winona.'
She gave me an appraising once-over and put the brakes on. 'Hello,' she said, 'I don't believe we've met.'
'G'day. Kylie Kendall's the name.'
'Just visiting?'
'For ten weeks,' I said, 'working with Dr. Wasinsky.'
'With Rubin? Excellent.'
'But I hope to learn so much from Professor Yarrow too,' I said with warmth. 'He's such a wonderful man.'
Winona Worsack raised her eyebrows. 'Indeed?'
It's possible some of Melodie's evil had rubbed off on me, because I found myself continuing in the same breathless tone, 'It's a dinkum honor to meet such a world-renowned authority on marsupials. I can hardly believe it's happening to me, a little sheila from Oz.'
'Kylie's seriously jet-lagged,' said Rube, giving me a warning glance. 'Arrived from Australia this morning.'
Yarrow's wife looked as if something decidedly rotten had been thrust under her nostrils. She got herself in gear and started to move off. 'Delightful to meet you, Kylie,' she murmured, not meaning a single word of it.
'It was bonzer meeting you too,' I called after her.
Rube gave me a severe look, then broke into a wide grin. 'Bad Kylie,' he said.
TEN
Today Rube had abandoned his brown cardigan, and was wearing wrinkled brown trousers and an old tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. I was in student garb, jeans and T-shirt. Things were going swimmingly for me at the Department of Organismic Biology, Ecology and Evolution. Of course I'd hooted when Rube told me that was the full title of the biology department, but he'd assured me it was true.
So far this morning I'd met a whole lot of people, and hadn't put my foot in my mouth once. This was probably because I limited myself to 'G'day' and a shy, modest smile. At least, I started off with my version of a shy, modest smile, but between introductions Rube Wasinsky chortled and said it made me look startlingly simple-minded. I then switched to an expression of thoughtful gravity.
Rube and I were heading back to Professor Yarrow's office to see if he was in residence so I could finally meet him, when the sounds of a loud altercation rang down the corridor.
'It's a crime against nature!' exclaimed a shrill voice. 'Unnatural!'
'Codswallop! You're an abysmally stupid woman.'
'Uh-oh,' said Rube. 'Pen's on the warpath.'
'Homosexuality is a perversion! A gay animal is a sinful animal!'
We rounded the corner to find Pen and Georgia Tapp toe-to-toe, but not nose-to-nose, as Pen Braithwaite loomed over the administrative assistant. Height was not the only contrast between them. Georgia wore a neat pink dress, stockings, and moderate high heels. Pen had on ancient jeans and man's shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
A small crowd had collected, and some were calling out comments and helpful advice.
Hands on hips, her well-upholstered form rigid with outrage, Georgia threw back her head, flared her nostrils, and declared, 'Any homosexual animal should be put to death before it can pervert others of its breed.'
Pen snorted, her nostrils similarly flared. Her tawny hair seemed almost to put out sparks. 'Put plainly, you're an idiot. Do you think a lesbian sheep says to herself, 'I'm a bad, wicked sheep. I'll turn to the dark side and seduce that innocent ewe over there.''
'How disgusting,' spluttered Georgia.
Pen thrust her chin out with even more belligerence. 'Open your closed, ossified mind, Georgia, and read the research. Homosexuality, bisexuality-it's a normal part of nature.'
Shaking her head violently, Georgia declared, 'I'll never believe that. Never!'
'Believe it. It's been documented-well-documented. There are homosexual ostriches. There are homosexual walruses. There are homosexual sage grouse. There are homosexual-'
'Arrgh!' Georgia clapped her hands over her ears. 'Stop this filthy talk.'
'What's going on here?' demanded an imperious voice. It was Jack Yarrow himself, his expression a blend of ire and indignation. He gaze swept the assembled spectators. 'Show's over, ladies and gentlemen,' he said with a sardonic sneer. 'Back to work.' No one moved.
I compared the man with the photographs I'd seen in the file Lonnie had given me. They'd clearly shown Yarrow's domed forehead with its Roman Empire hairstyle vainly attempting to hide his growing baldness. His small, flatfish nose was the same, as were his prominent washed-out blue-gray eyes and thin-lipped mouth. What
