102
PHILIP L. GREENE
they fool around a little. Do you know what I mean, Mr. Mer–
genthaler
?"
Rollie looked at the black mesh stockings with flecks of
skin
showing through her crossed legs. The holes were too big, the skin
chalky and flat. Her nostrils flared too much. Her arms showing
through her sleeveless black sweater were freckled with large green–
ish spots. Her eyes had the look of burnt bacon. She was a petting–
to-the-climax specialist, a manipulator of small triumphs out
of
which one manages to fashion major spiritual defeats. Rollie ab–
horred the sexual Philistine.
He leaned over and patted her once, then again, letting
his
hand linger an instant longer on the black mesh. He felt the leprous,
corroding flesh tum to flame at his touch. "I think women got off
the pedestal a long time ago," he said. He thought of Melanie
Armbruster, who had tricked him into agreeing that yes love was
a many splendored thing and the heart has its reasons and how do
I count the ways. And here was Marvena Portney, the Eastern
archetype,
la femme moyenne sensueUe,
the back-seat sensualist with
a front-seat philosophy.
Marvena rose suddenly and apologized to Mr. Mergenthaler,
she had car-pool responsibilities, three other kids were waiting for
her. Could she see him next week about her paper? RoIlie watched
her skitter down the hall, hair bouncing gently, buttocks jiggling
confidently, flying to join the pedestal-burners.
The phone call home was tender, conciliatory. Did Bonnie have
a good day with the kids? It is rough not having a girl coming in.
They would drum up the money to put Jessica into nursery school.
Next semester he would definitely ask for no night classes. They
never get to see each other. When tenure came things woUld change.
No more hopping around from school to school. Was Rollie having
a conference? Please dear, couldn't he cut down on the conferences,
for a little while? She shouldn't worry, he keeps the door open and
the conferences short. What else could he do? They come after him.
As
RoIlie hung up Malcolm came in and slipped his folder
into the desk drawer. Malcolm had the mysterious document look
about him, the neck sitting stiffly on the porcine shoulders, the faded
blue eyes tilting left and right in search of rats in the comer, the
girlish hands furtive and nervous, dancing over the papers on
his
desk. Rollie shopped around for a vulnerable point of entry. Some
