Paul also suggested she take his film class at the college. “It’ll fine-tune your skills,” he said. “I think you’ll benefit from it. And I’d feel better recommending one of my students as my successor at the paper.”
Though Hannah hated giving up precious time with Guy for this class one night a week, it seemed worth her while.
She’d been in the film class for five weeks now. Clearly, she was Paul’s favorite student, and all the special attention embarrassed her. She kept Paul at arm’s length. She needed his help, but didn’t want to become another notch on his bedpost.
Paul’s assistant, an arty, edgy young man named Seth Stroud, confirmed for Hannah that his boss did indeed want to get her in the sack. “Professor G. usually picks one female student every year,” Seth had confided to her one evening after class a while back. “He leads her around, tells her she’s brilliant and he’s gonna leave his old lady for her. Then he drops her at the end of the semester. You seem nice. I don’t want Paul doing that to you.”
“Well, thanks for the warning,” Hannah had replied. “But I’m not interested in Professor Gulletti that way.” Then she’d added, “You must not think very highly of your boss.”
“Actually, he’s okay,” Seth had admitted, with a shrug. “He’s just a shit to women. Hey, do me a favor and don’t tell him I said anything, okay?”
Now, whenever Paul asked her to stay after class for something, or picked her to explain the workings of a certain film director, Hannah would steal a look at Seth. Standing at the side of the room, he’d grin and roll his eyes a little. He was an oddly attractive man in his late twenties, with rectangular designer glasses, and brown hair that he’d gelled to stand in a dozen different directions. They’d had only a few brief conversations in the past few months. But Hannah had come to like him.
“Seth, if you could get the lights,” Paul announced, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “From 1962, John Frankenheimer’s
Seth switched off the lights, then stepped over to the projector and started the film. The MGM lion was roaring as Paul made his way down the aisle. He took the seat on Hannah’s left.
She caught Seth giving her one of his looks.
Paul leaned toward her. “I called you this week,” he whispered. “Didn’t you get my message?”
Hannah nodded. “Yes. Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. It’s been kind of crazy at work. I was hoping we could talk during the break tonight.”
“I thought you could help me with some research,” Paul explained, while the music swelled on the film’s soundtrack. “It’ll get your foot in the door with my managing editor. I’m doing an article for the newspaper on movies that broke the blacklist. Maybe we can discuss it over dinner this week?”
Hannah hesitated.
“Excuse me, Professor,” Ben piped up. “I can’t hear the movie.”
Paul frowned at him, then reached over and touched Hannah’s arm. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered.
Squirming, Hannah sat between the two men. She gazed at the screen.
At the break, Paul said he’d talk with her after class.
Hannah nodded. “Okay. But I promised the sitter I’d be back by ten.”
She wandered out to the hallway, where the other students gathered by the vending machines and rest-room doors. Ben Whats-his-name seemed to be waiting for her. “You were right,” he said. “It was a good movie. I didn’t nod off. Warren Beatty’s character was sure a jerk, though, wasn’t he? I thought Eva Marie Saint would be too smart to fall for him.”
Hannah gave him a polite smile, then stepped over to the vending machine. “Maybe you ought to bring it up when the class reconvenes for the discussion period.”
“I don’t think I’ll stick around for that.” He leaned against the vending machine. “I wasn’t exactly gaga for his theories on
Hannah slipped some coins in the slot, pressed a couple of buttons, then fished her candy from the vending machine’s drawer. “Would you like a Good & Plenty?” she asked.
“No,” he said, frowning. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I didn’t realize you and the teacher…” He trailed off. “Well, I heard people in class say you two were together. But I thought you were too smart to fall for a guy like him. Guess I was wrong about you
“What?” Hannah said.
“Like I said, I’m sorry.” He turned and started down the hall.
Hannah wondered how he’d gotten this misinformation about her and Paul. Had he been asking people about her?
She watched him walk away. Then he ducked into the stairwell.
Hannah decided she would take a cab home from the community college. She could hardly afford a taxi, but it was raining. Besides, she was still feeling a little leery after last night; first seeing that video, then thinking someone was in the apartment. And now, this Ben character. He unnerved her.
Paul was very curious about him. “How well do you know that guy?” he asked, pausing with Hannah outside the empty classroom. Everyone else had already left, including Seth. “I noticed him talking to you,” Paul went on. “He’s very good-looking, isn’t he? Is he a customer from the store?”
“I don’t know him from Adam,” Hannah said. “He just sat next to me in class tonight. Up until two hours ago, I never even said ‘boo’ to the guy. Do you know his last name? You must have it somewhere on a class list.”
According to the registration list, his name was Ben Sturges; phone number, 555-3291. Hannah wondered if the number was blocked. She thought about all those hang-ups she’d received lately. Could the calls be traced to his number?
Paul started telling her about his current project. “Some night this week we ought to get together for dinner or drinks and discuss it further.”
Hannah sighed. “Well, this week is kind of crazy,” she said. “But I really want to work for you, Paul. I can squeeze in the research on my own time, and then e-mail you.”
Paul frowned a bit. “Well, then I guess we’ll chat on-line later in the week. Listen, why don’t you let me drive you home?”
“Oh, well, thanks,” Hannah replied. “I don’t want you going to any trouble. I was going to take a cab—”
“Okay, suit yourself,” Paul grumbled; then he marched down the corridor to his office.
Hannah sighed. Obviously, he was ticked off at her. Otherwise, he’d have insisted on driving her home—just to be polite. After all, it was raining, for God’s sake.
She called the cab service from a pay phone by the community college’s main entrance.
Eleven blocks, and it cost her six dollars with tip. She’d have to skip lunch tomorrow. Still, the taxi ride kept her out of the rain.
Hannah stepped inside the apartment and pried off her shoes. She woke up Joyce, who had been dozing in front of the TV.
“Guy’s fast asleep, the little angel,” she told Hannah while collecting her purse and raincoat. “I put a big dent in that bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies. You really shouldn’t have bought those. Oh, and no one called tonight, not a single hang-up either. How about that?”
Hannah loaned Joyce an umbrella for the walk home. She locked the door after her, then checked in on Guy, who was asleep. After a shower, Hannah climbed into her T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, and threw on a robe. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she plopped down on the sofa and grabbed the remote. She hoped her soap opera would take her mind off everything. She pressed “Play” to make sure the tape hadn’t run out early on her program.
What came over the screen wasn’t
