Chapter 20

The orange glow also highlighted Alison’s hair mousse, making her look exotic beyond her years. Nate Littlejohn invited her into his living room and offered her a single-malt scotch. His apartment was ultra-modern, a bit museum-like with scientific apparati, phrenological heads, straitjackets, stuffed baboons and so forth displayed like art. The walls were painted in dark, masculine colors. Typical bachelor pad, thought Alison.

Littlejohn hadn’t changed since their meeting earlier in the afternoon and Alison’s splendor took him by surprise. “You look lovely tonight. I’m glad you decided to come. Here we can talk without artificial student-teacher roles getting in the way.”

Alison smiled. She was determined to get what she wanted, and if Littlejohn was more comfortable talking in his apartment, so be it. “Thank you, Professor Littlejohn,” she said. “I really need your help.”

“Please, call me Nate,” Littlejohn insisted, adding, “It sounds like you’ve done something that goes beyond the scope of the assignment?”

“Maybe I did.” Alison feigned innocence for a moment, to get his guard down. Then she let him have it: “To tell the truth, though, I don’t see what difference it makes, now that we’ve dropped our artificial student-teacher roles.”

Littlejohn took a deep breath and started over. He decided to take the high road this time. “Alison, do you remember how Emerson went to visit Thoreau in prison? Emerson says to Thoreau, ‘Why are you here?’ And Thoreau answers, ‘Why aren’t you?’”

“Sure. Civil Disobedience. Thoreau’s saying it’s a responsibility. That’s exactly my point.”

“But Thoreau’s in jail.”

“So?”

“You said yourself, you’re concerned about legal implications—that’s why you want to talk to me.”

“Yeah.”

“But you have to realize, if you talk to me … about something illegal … that will definitely have implications for me … and my job. And I still don’t have any idea what this is all about.”

“I figured as the Deviant professor, you must be willing to take some risks. Aren’t you a risk-taker, Nate?”

Littlejohn had to admit he liked this brazen tone and he responded in kind. “I guess I prefer Emerson to Thoreau. He spoke his mind, but he still had a comfortable place to live, a steady income and he didn’t have to do any jail time. My philosophy is to corrupt from within.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. “I was reading about women in the Third World; they grow most of the food on the planet, did you know that?”

“OK. I’m with you.”

“Traditionally, they grew almost 200 varieties of plants. For thousands of years. Then these giant corporations come along and force them to just grow corn or something stupid like that. They patent crops and make people pay for their own seeds. They’re stealing the world’s biodiversity and starving people to death. I get so angry about it, I could scream.”

Littlejohn nodded in encouragement.

“So I wanted to do something about it. Something deviant, like you talked about in class.”

Littlejohn frowned but Alison ignored it.

“So my … friend and I, we … er … borrowed this truck and drove out to this … biotech … this awful company in my hometown, just across the river in Jersey that performs terrible genetic experiments. We wanted to sneak in and do something like liberate the lab rats and mice or at least throw rocks through the greenhouse windows.”

“That’s very daring,” said Littlejohn. “But I don’t remember reading anything about that in the paper. Usually they try to blow up these protests like they’re a big deal and call them eco-terrorism.”

“Well, you didn’t read about it because it never happened.”

“Ah.”

“Like I told you, we ran into something we didn’t expect.”

“Yes. And …” He was getting impatient.

Alison sensed this was the moment of truth. She had to show him the goods or the deal was off. She moved closer and said in the most sincere voice she could manage, “I really need your help, Nate. Because what I witnessed there could make a big difference. It could bring down the company—definitely. But if we handle it right, we might be able to stop the entire industry in its tracks.”

“Sounds unbelievable,” Littlejohn said.

Alison reacted to his obvious lack of enthusiasm. “You aren’t taking me seriously.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Littlejohn faced her squarely and took a step closer. “You’re making some large claims, but you haven’t told me your basis for making them.”

“This is important, Nate. I need to know if I can trust you.” She looked him squarely in the eye.

“Alison, you can trust me.” Littlejohn reached out and began kneading the muscles in her neck and shoulders. “I can see you’re stressed. And I’m worried it may be affecting your judgment.”

“Don’t patronize me!” She wriggled free of his grasp. “What if I told you this was about murder, Nate? Would that be enough to earn your respect? Or would you sneer that I’m just another hysterical freshman?” She was pounding his shoulders as hard as she could, simultaneously, with both hands. “Because that’s what they do over there at NewGarden Biosciences, Nate. They kill people. The question is, are you going to help me stop them?”

Littlejohn’s mind was racing at top speed. This couldn’t be happening: One of his students, involved in a murder while working to fulfill a course requirement. It’d be laughable if it weren’t so horrible. It was time to take control of the situation. He caught both her hands so she would stop pounding his chest. “Alison, this is serious. If they really are killing people, why don’t you report it to the police?”

Alison’s frustration was uncontrollable. “This is supposed to be fucking deviant behavior! No matter how you cut it, calling the cops is not a revolutionary act … and …” she was starting to lose her composure, “… and I’m involved. It wouldn’t be safe. I’m afraid of what might happen to me.” She burst into bitter tears again, clearly suffering.

Littlejohn released her wrists and slid his hands up to her shoulders. “You did the right thing coming here, Alison,” he said in his most soothing manner. “I can tell what you need most of all is to relax. Maybe a backrub would help you calm down.”

Alison went numb. She had suspected it might come to this. But, one way or another, she still needed Littlejohn’s help—even if it was just an introduction to Nathalie Porthous. She also thought of Thoreau …

The backrub was perfunctory at best, and Alison was soon naked except for the fawn-colored camisole. Littlejohn was only partially undressed as well. He discarded his khakis and outlandishly patterned boxer shorts. But his oxford shirt was pulled up partway, where it acted effectively as a straitjacket. Alison worked away on top of him, her breasts floating a few tantalizing inches from his mouth. She pressed on his shoulders like a wrestler while she ground down with all her weight and strength against his hips.

Just at the moment of climax, Alison pulled away.

“You little bitch!” Littlejohn snarled. “I’ll be sure to send you my cleaning bill.” Then he noticed the angry flush mounting from Alison’s chest to her face, and he attempted a more tactful retreat. “You know, Alison, this is as deviant an act as anything my other students have ever performed. Why don’t you write about it for your paper and forget about those other things?”

The callousness of the remark reignited Alison’s fury. “Other things!” She grabbed his discarded boxers and tore them in half. “Maybe I should take you to the cleaners, you filthy …”

—“Alison, that just came out horribly wrong. I believe you. I really do.”

She tried to hit him with all her strength. “Liar. Hypocrite. Asshole.”

—“Alison, calm down. I’m on your side. I really am.”

“I won’t calm down. I won’t calm down. I won’t calm down,” she raved in time with each attempt to beat him around the face and chest. “This isn’t deviant. This is pathetic. It’s routine. It’s mainstream. I’m not going to write about this …” She gestured toward Littlejohn and the bed.

Finally Littlejohn capitulated. “OK, Alison. There’s a journalist I know. I’ll call her and see what I can do. Alison, please, you’ve got to trust me.”

Alison stopped trying to beat him, though she still eyed him warily. She gathered up the careless pile of clothing from the bed and flounced toward the door, slamming it with every ounce of melodrama she possessed.