CHAPTER 18
Jenny walked out of the college building with two of her friends but stopped when she saw Slater sitting on a bench on the far side of the road. She had arranged to go shopping with the two girls but changed her mind when she saw that Slater was reading a manuscript. She knew immediately that it was her work in progress that he was reading and she wanted to know what he thought. “I’ll catch you later,” she said.
“You’re not going to talk to him, are you?” asked Rhonda, a tall black girl with dreadlocks that hung half-way down her back. She was from the Bronx and was working on a gritty detective novel with a black lesbian protagonist that Jenny felt was too clichéd to be publishable. Not that she’d ever said that to Rhonda, of course. Most writers pretended to appreciate constructive criticism but deep down all they wanted was to be told how wonderful their work was.
“He’s psycho, you know that,” said the other girl. Her name was Sally-Anne and she was from a small town in Florida. She was writing about a small girl who was abused by her father and Jenny was fairly sure it was based on Sally-Anne’s own experiences. She was stick-thin and had dark patches under her eyes as if she didn’t sleep well and while she was often smiling the smile always looked slightly off.
“He’s not psycho,” said Jenny dismissively.
“He is so psycho,” said Rhonda. “He’s talking about killing someone on the course, you heard him.”
“Doesn’t matter anymore anyway,” said Sally-Anne. “You heard Grose. He’s kicked him off the course. Good riddance, I say. Whether or not he’s serious, he shouldn’t be screwing with us the way he is. It’s not funny.”
“He is fit though,” said Jenny. “He’s got that Robert Pattinson Edward thing going. Mean and moody and soft white skin.”
Rhonda faked a shudder. “You are one sick bunny,” she said. She nodded at Sally-Anne. “Come on, I hear the Gap calling my name.” She reached out and touched Jenny gently on the arm. “Promise me one thing, baby?”
“What?” said Jenny.
“If he does kill you, can I have your laptop? I am so sick of mine freezing on me.” She laughed and hurried over the road. He didn’t notice her until she sat down on the bench next to him. “Hey,” she said.
Slater grinned at her. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, but you’re still winning friends and influencing people.”
“He’s an idiot. He can’t throw me off the course.”
“You just need to handle him the right way.”
“Yeah? You know he set the cops on me?” He took out a cigarette and lit it.
“Are you serious?”
Slater nodded and blew smoke. “Two of New York’s finest tried to give me the third degree last night.”
“What happened?”
“They tried to get heavy with me and they failed miserably,” he said. “I sent them packing.”
“And you think Dudley sent them?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I’m guessing he tried to get me thrown off the course and when that didn’t work he thought the cops would scare me off.” He blew smoke up at the sky. “He thought wrong.”
“You shouldn't give Dudley such a hard time. He’s a good teacher. Really, he is.”
“Maybe. But he's not a writer. Not any more. He’s not written anything worth reading since The Snow Birds. His sales have dwindled to pretty much nothing. Some of his books aren’t even in print any more. That's why he teaches. Because he can't write. And that doctorate took him six years to get. He's no more a doctor of philosophy than he is a writer.”
Jenny looked down at the sidewalk. “He's jealous of you,” she said quietly.
“He said that?”
“No. But I know that's why he doesn't like you. You've got something he hasn't.” She looked up at him. “Talent.”
Slater studied her with amused eyes. Then he slowly grinned. “Do you want to go sailing?”
“Sailing?”
“How can we go sailing? This is New York.”
“Which is surrounded by water.”
“But where do we get a boat from?”
“I live on a boat.”
“You do not.”
Slater laughed, took a final drag on his cigarette, and flicked it away in a shower of sparks. “I live on a yacht. For real. Now do you want to come sailing or not?”