A Fashionable Vice

CHAPTER ONE

It was Anne’s worst nightmare come to life. The one where she’d find herself naked in the middle of the street. Except this was for real. It wasn’t the middle of the day, but with the bright moonlight, when it came to preserving her modesty, it might as well have been high noon.

They had dumped her out of the car along the edge of the road. And there she stood: bare-ass naked. Without clothes, without money, without ID, without even shoes. Hunched over, one arm and hand across her boobs, the other trying to shield her pubic area.

And a vehicle rapidly approaching.

She was panic-stricken. What a dreadful predicament. She wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Given the chance, she’d do the same to that . . . that bitch who was responsible for her horrible plight. That witch was the one who’d insisted on leaving her naked beside the road, not the men.

It had all started with Anne’s own cupidity and love of a French Dip sandwich. A French Dip gratis at an open house was responsible for Anne Duncan ending up on a public Baja highway, naked as the day she was born.

Anne and Amy—one of Anne’s two young housemates—had arrived at the open house about three o’clock on a rainy Friday afternoon in April in San Diego. The company Anne slaved for at the time, Remedials, Inc.—located above a Sprouse-Reitz in a suburban shopping center—hosted the affair. Every two weeks, the company threw little get-togethers to give prospective students a chance to mingle with the tutors and decide which one they’d like to work with.

Ordinarily the food consisted of cocktail hot dogs, inexpensive cheese, and gallon jugs of wine, along with tubs of iced beer and soft drinks. On that particular Friday, though, French Dip sandwiches were the stellar attraction. And Anne loved a good French Dip. For her, a French Dip gratis rendered any occasion attractive.

The two had driven out in Anne’s car. Brushing raindrops out of her eyes, Amy slid into the front seat. This a new Accord?

Anne shook her head. It’s an ’88. But it’s only got 14,000 miles, so I’m happy with it.

It looks new. When’d you get it?

Three weeks ago. To celebrate the divorce being final. I traded in my junker and paid the rest in cash.

How’d you manage that?

Part of the divorce settlement. Jack and I split what we had down the middle. I used my share to buy the car.

That’s all you got? After ten years of marriage?

Well, Jack did agree to send me $200 a month for a year. And so far, he’s been good for it. He bored me, but I trust him.

So how’s it going?

Anne shrugged. Not great, but things’ll get better. There’s a pretty good demand for English and English Lit. Plus I do a little Spanish. Anyway, I’m getting by.

When they arrived, the food hadn’t, so they decided to forego the cheap wine, and instead, each grabbed a beer. But conversation was difficult, the crowd large, too many people smoking, and the decibel count high.

Amy gazed around. Kind of a mob scene, isn’t it?

Yeah, conceded Anne, but I appreciate your coming with me. I hate going to these bashes alone. When Jack and I were together, I didn’t come very often, but I didn’t have to worry about money then, either. These days, though, I could use some new business, although to be perfectly honest, the real reason I come is to meet new people.

Amy studied Anne’s black cocktail dress. Most of the other women wore casual outfits. Amy’s eyebrow shot up. People?

All right, men, Anne admitted, sheepishly. I’m getting bored with no social life. And it’s tough getting back into circulation. You know me, Anne the Reticent. Plus after ten years of marriage, I’m out of practice with the dating game.

So how’re you making out?

I’m not, confessed Anne. In the nine months since Jack left, I’ve only dated three guys. All three over forty and, frankly, no improvement on Jack. Compared to them, Jack was Mr. Excitement.

Amy giggled. That bad, huh?

Yes, but I can always hope Prince Charming will turn up. Anne smiled wryly. Pretty silly, huh? For all the good it’s done me, I might as well visit a convent.

Amy nodded sympathetically. I suppose at your age, it is tough. But, she shrugged, maybe today you’ll get lucky.

Anne shot her young companion a sharp look. I hope so.

However, Amy went on, Mel’s due to pick me up soon, and we’ll have to be running along. In fact, she nodded at a lanky young man peering around just inside the entrance, there he is. She waved, then turned back to Anne. Thanks for bringing me, though.

You sure you can’t stay?

Nope, sorry. Mel and I have things to do.

Anne shrugged. If I had any brains, I’d leave, too, but I guess I’ll hang around and try one of those French Dips. I love ‘em.

Amy hurried toward the door. As Anne watched her exit, a young man just entering the room caught her eye. Well, she murmured, what have we here?

He was a hunk. California sun had bleached his hair a startling blond, almost white. And he didn’t wear his wavy hair really long. Not short, but shorter than the fashion of the moment. Although obviously young, he didn’t hide his unblemished surfer’s tan under a beard.

His eyes, when later she had the opportunity to gaze into them up close, were what she called Newman-blue. And his features gave promise of one day becoming what romance authors were inclined to call finely chiseled. That day, though, only a hint of eventual ruggedness was present. Instead his face had a boyish softness that Anne found appealing, especially after her experiences with the fortyish crowd.

Then he smiled.

Oh, my God, thought Anne. What a smile! It lit up the entire room and left her almost giddy. As though her lottery number had just hit it big. She didn’t stop to analyze it. Eyes glued on Mr. Adorable, oblivious of those about her, she began working her way through the crowd. An irresistible desire to touch the gorgeous hunk urged her on. A hand on her forearm brought her to a halt. Fay Whelan was smiling at her. Down, girl, Fay whispered. He’s taken.

What? said the startled Anne. Who’s taken?

Fay giggled. The pretty young man you were homing in on. He’s Bobbie’s. This must be the first time you’ve seen him, but I know how you feel. A real hunk, isn’t he?

Anne nodded. Do you know him?

His name’s Scott Evans, and he’s been going with Bobbie for all of two months. Rex and I doubled with them a couple of times.

Anne stared across the room at Mr. Adorable. Bobbie Watkins clutched the young hunk’s arm possessively. Anne turned back to Fay. Where’s he from? What’s he do?

He’s a student, said Fay. A senior at UCSD. But what’s with this sudden interest in young Scott?

A girl can look, can’t she? Besides, he is awfully attractive. Downright yummy, in fact.

Fay raised an eyebrow. A little young for you, isn’t he?

Bitch, thought Anne. Just because I’m thirty-two, and you’re only twenty-eight. Out loud she said, You think so? What about Bobbie? She’s older than he is, isn’t she?

Yes, but not all that much.

Okay, said Anne, but I’d still like to meet him. Can you introduce me?

Obviously surprised, Fay stared at her. But she was no more surprised than Anne was. My God, she thought, you must be losing your mind. With a start, she realized Fay was saying something.

You serious?

Anne nodded.

Well, okay, but let’s wait till Bobbie’s not around. I doubt it’d do much good to introduce you if she’s hanging on his arm.

Eventually a young female prospect sidetracked Bobbie, separating her from Scott. Fay grabbed Anne’s arm, and the two marched up to Scott before anyone else could.

Scott, meet Anne Duncan, said Fay. She tutors English and some Spanish. She’s very good at it, too.

Fay turned to Anne and winked. Anne, Scott Evans. He’s a good kid. I’m sure you’ll like him.

Hi, Anne, said a grinning Mr. Adorable. It’s a pleasure. I seldom get to meet such a highly recommended English teacher. And so attractive, too.

She liked his voice, deep, pleasantly modulated. Uh . . . Fay said you might be in the market for some tutoring. In Spanish.

He glanced at Fay. Well, if that’s what Fay said, I guess I should sign up to work on my Spanish, except it’s a little late. I graduate this year.

Anne laughed. Actually my field’s mainly English, although now and then I do handle a little Spanish.

How’d you learn it well enough to tutor it? College level at that.

When I was a kid, my father took a job as legal advisor to an American company in Puerto Rico, and we all learned to speak it.

You an only child?

Uh-huh.

Well, what do you know? So am I.

Chatting with Scott, Anne was aware that Bobbie, even as she talked with her prospect, kept an eye on them. Bobbie also saw to it the interview with the student didn’t last long. She quickly returned to claim Scott.

Come on, she said, sliding her arm through his, time we were moving along. Rita and Joe are waiting for us, you know.

He looked puzzled. They are?

Right. We’re meeting them in twenty minutes, so let’s go. She turned to Fay and Anne. Sorry, ladies. Gotta run.

He didn’t look too pleased but didn’t argue. It’s been a pleasure, Anne. Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime. He smiled. I’m always in the market for free food and drinks.

They watched Bobbie hurry Scott toward the door.

So, said Fay, what do you think?

I liked him. But I wish we’d had a little more time to talk.

Fay laughed. She didn’t give you much of a chance, did she?

Preoccupied, Anne gave only a vague nod. Despite the short time she’d had to chat with him, Scott had impressed her. And not just physically. Even on short acquaintance, she’d found him articulate and charming. Also his remark about free food boded well; he might be coming to more of these Friday gatherings.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Anne thought a great deal about Scott and found herself wondering how she could make herself more attractive, more sexy. Never mind what Daddy would’ve thought. She’d heard his lectures on the pitfalls of sex and the world’s wicked ways too often not to have his warnings ingrained in her memory.

But, she told herself, these are the nineties, for God’s sake. Things now are different. And she had to do something. Life had been boring enough with Jack, but being divorced was even worse. She was not only bored but lonely.

Maybe she should wear her skirts a little shorter, a little tighter. She searched fashion magazines for a hairdo that would make her look younger, more provocative. She spent what seemed hours, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, experimenting with make-up. Recalling Dorothy Parker’s dictum about men and passes and glasses, she solicited opinions from her housemates, even though each was almost ten years younger.

What do you think, kids? Should I get some contact lens?

Both advised her to leave well enough alone.

You look great with what you’re wearing, said Amy. Don’t change a thing.

Yeah, added Jolene. Wish I could look like you. You know, sharp, really intelligent. That’s . . . you know, classy.

* * *

Anne was on hand for the next Remedials, Inc. open house. When Scott strolled in alone, no Bobbie hovering over him, Anne’s eyes lit up. For two weeks she’d looked forward to seeing and talking with him again, but had failed to take into account that she might be only a face in the crowd. Several females immediately clustered around him.

Damn! she thought. Fat lot of good this is doing me. Frustrated, she watched women gravitate toward him. If he saw her at all, she was sure he saw her only as a bit player on the fringe of the mob.

Her qualms over the fact that, although she wasn’t with him, Bobbie was still his Significant Other compounded the problem. Not that Bobbie and Anne were such great friends. But nevertheless her conscience rebelled at the idea of trying to steal the lover of someone else.

Sometimes Daddy’s moral principles were a real fat pain. She wished she could ignore them. But, on that particular day, at that particular open house, she simply stood around, smiling and ineffectual. She did, however, pick up one tidbit she thought might prove useful: Scott studied faithfully every night, Monday through Friday, on campus in Central Library.

CHAPTER TWO

Carrying a loose-leaf notebook and several unattached papers, Anne took the elevator to the top floor of Central and worked her way down. Finally she spotted him in a study carrel. Ducking out of sight, she made her way down to the main floor. There she took a seat by the main entryway and settled down to wait.

Sooner or later, he’d have to pass her way.

It was almost ten when he emerged from an elevator and headed toward the door. Quickly she gathered up notebook and papers; timing it perfectly, she stepped into his path. In the ensuing collision, papers went flying; the notebook hit the floor with a loud THWACK. She staggered back, barely retaining her balance.

Oh, hey, he said. I’m sorry.

Think nothing of it. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.

But look at your papers. They’re all over the place. Here, let me help you.

While she stooped to pick up the notebook, he started gathering up the papers. When they were all in hand, he smiled his dazzler. You all right? he asked solicitously, handing her the papers.

She rubbed her left elbow, her actually unscathed left elbow, and tried to look brave. I think so.

He scrutinized her. Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?

She opened her mouth to reply, but he saved her the trouble. Why, sure, you’re, uh . . . Anne, aren’t you?

Yes, and you’re Scott.

That’s right. Hey, that’s great. You remember me.

Well, of course. You’re Bobbie’s friend. How is she?

He shrugged. I haven’t seen her lately. I’m afraid I’m just a back number with her.

Sorry to hear it, she lied.

Yeah, well, that’s the way it goes. But, what do you say we have a cup of coffee? Maybe let me make up for knocking you down.

She suppressed her elation. Sure, why not?

How about Hampton’s? Over by the Village Theater. You know where I mean?

Oh, sure. Sounds great.

They each had their own car and agreed to meet in the parking lot at Hampton’s. She zipped right along, but to her amazement, he was already parked and waiting. She looked around for a parking space. But the theater hadn’t let out yet, and the lot was jammed. She finally ended up on the periphery of the huge lot and trudged back to where Scott patiently waited.

Leaning on a battered old Volkswagen Bug, he epitomized the poverty-stricken student: worn jeans, scuffed loafers, faded denim shirt. She noted, too, that he’d parked in a space reserved for the handicapped. Tactfully she called attention to his oversight.

He laughed. Don’t worry about it.

Reaching into the Bug, from under the front seat, he produced a handicap placard, then propped it on the dashboard. See. No problem.

Oops, sorry. I didn’t realize you had a handicap.

He winked. I don’t. I just hate to see good parking spots go to waste, so I picked this sign up somewhere. It comes in handy in emergencies. Like now.

Seated at a table, Scott leaned across and this time gave her a lop-sided boyish grin. Look, I know I’m the one who suggested coffee, but to tell the truth, I’m a bit short of cash. How about it? You got a few bucks on you?

Well . . . yeah.

Feel like springing for a couple of pieces of cheesecake?

Hampton’s served several varieties of delicious but expensive, calorie-laden cheesecake. Well, she thought, why not? Sure. Love to.

He placed the order; when the waitress sped off to do his bidding, he focused his full attention back on Anne. You doing grad work, or are you on the faculty?

Neither. At least not now.

"You mean you were on the faculty?"

Well, no, but I did get my M.A. in English here a few years ago. She smiled. I hate to admit how many years ago, though.

Why? Personally, I don’t think a woman’s really interesting until she’s at least thirty. He treated her to the boyish grin again. Hope you don’t mind my asking, but how old are you?

The arrival of the waitress with the coffee and cheesecake saved her from an immediate answer. While the waitress arranged plates and poured coffee, Anne reflected on his question. Well, she finally concluded, no point in keeping it secret. Maybe he really does go for older women.

After the waitress took off, Anne busied herself spooning sugar into her coffee and stirring it. Scott looked at her expectantly. At last she looked up and smiled. You really want to know?

Sure, but if you don’t want to tell me. . . .

No, no. It’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m thirty-two.

Aha! I knew it! I mean you look to me like you’re just coming into your own, just . . . you know, starting your best years.

Why, thank you.

So, if you’re not in grad school and not on the faculty, what do you do? Besides tutor, I mean?

I write. Free-lance articles, a little fiction.

I’m impressed. Any luck? I mean, have you sold anything?

A few things. A couple of short stories to magazines that pay in copies. And a couple of articles for a few bucks. Not much, though. Totalled less than a hundred bucks.

She sipped her coffee, then asked, How about you? Someone said you’re a senior at UCSD. What’s your major?

Pre-med with a major in biology and a minor in psych.

Your family paying your way?

He shrugged. They help, but I got a few GSL loans, and sometimes I pick up a few bucks playing piano with a group on weekends. He shook his head. I’ll be glad, though, when I start making some real money.

She sighed. Tell me about it. I know just what you mean. I’ve been out ten years and still don’t have much. I got my B.A. from Michigan and an M.A. here, but I’ve been so busy paying off bills I could never get ahead. And since my divorce, I’ve been falling behind.

He smiled ruefully. "You’re not very encouraging. I need money. Hell, I want money. Lots and lots of money."

You shouldn’t have any trouble, not if you’re going to be a doctor. I hear it’s tough getting into medical school, though.

He grinned happily. Oh, no problem. I got an acceptance at UC-Davis for next September.

Congratulations. I’d offer a toast, but all I’ve got is coffee. She hesitated. I suppose I could spring for a glass of wine.

Sounds great!

He turned and beckoned to the waitress. The woman hurried over, and he ordered two glasses of an expensive Chardonnay. Then he turned back to Anne. I also make a buck now and then as a free-lance photographer. Maybe we could collaborate. How about it? Any of your stuff need illustrating?

What a charming idea, she thought. Sounds interesting. You had much experience?

"Oh, yeah. I’ve been a camera nut ever since junior high. Even won a few awards in photography magazines. And a couple of times, was lucky enough to be on hand at some happenings and