28

“It’s so crazy,” Diana said, brushing her hair in front of the mirror. It crackled with static electricity, falling slowly, resisting gravity. “I don’t know anything about you, really.”

“Nonsense,” Allen told her. “You know everything about me. My base ambition. My cavalier indifference to the law …”

“I mean the standard things.”

“Ah!” He bowed from the waist. “Student of Christ Church, Oxford. Jury Professor of English at—where was it? Yes, at Leeds. Before that, lecturer at Queen’s University, Belfast. Three years ago, seduced to New Hampshire, where the esteemed Wendolyn Chair waited. I didn’t stress any of this earlier, of course, because I want you to love me for myself and not for the prestigious posts I’ve held.” He ahemed.

Diana laughed, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Wait until Lida met him. Wouldn’t Lida die? She caught her breath. “Will you be at the MLA?” she asked. The meeting of the Modern Language Association would be held in New York, two months away. She and Lida would go together. “Or is that too pedestrian a place for you?”

“I will be there. I’ll be giving a very pedestrian paper.”

“And afterwards?”

“My very dignified colleague, Riley, promised to line everyone in the department up with—let me see, how did he phrase that? Oh, yes, ‘a few cute tricks.’”

“I don’t believe he said that.”

“I swear it!” Allen walked toward her, growing serious. “But, Diana,” he said, “the MLA is long away. Surely I’ll see you before then?”