After Love (13 page)

Professor Hutchens, an elderly man who had probably been teaching when TV was first broadcast in the late 1940s, dropped his book bag on the table at the front of the lecture hall. He turned and wrote his last name on the whiteboard, the word
zero,
and the number fifty before turning around to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. As a reminder, those are the three pieces of information you'll need to keep in mind as you work through my course. My name, the number of office hours for which I am available, and the number of hours of television and film you will need to watch every week during this course to pass. And don't reverse those last two numbers.” Hutchens glanced over at Nick. “I did that for your benefit, sir, since you missed the first week. You will be expected to catch up. I'm sure one of the students will give you a list of the films we've already watched.”

Nick nodded in acknowledgment of Hutchens's comments and made a mental note of the assignment. He listened to the lecture and discussion by the class on the past week's viewings: two films and a dozen TV programs covering a wide variety of broadcast and cable channels.

Because it was summer session, the class was two hours long, which could have been horribly boring. But Nick found himself enjoying it. He'd always been a film buff, and this was giving him a new appreciation. Why hadn't they had classes like this when he was in college?

The time passed quickly, and when he exited the classroom, he found Sam waiting for him. She was attractive but almost young enough to be his daughter. That sobering thought completely turned him off. Besides, the image of Jamie was occupying that part of his brain right now, and he was on a mission that even thinking about coed sex would only complicate. But Sam would be good for expanding his circle of friends.

“Hey, Nick.” She smiled broadly with her head tilted to one side. She knew exactly how cute she was….“Enjoy the class?”

“Yeah, it was cool.”

“Professor Hutchens really knows his shit.”

“He seems to. Can you give me a list of everything I missed?”

“Sure, I'll write it down for you. They're all really old, but you can find most of them on Netflix or one of the old movie channels.”

“I probably saw them on their first run,” he said, only half joking.

She laughed. “You're not
that
old.”

He had never felt older.

“So, I'm heading over to the Kerbey Lane Café.” She pointed to a small place across the street. “Wanna come with? I can help you get caught up.”

“Haven't been there….Is it good?”

“Yeah…and cheap. All my friends hang out there. It's close to everyone's houses.”

“Cool.” Nick smiled and followed her out of the building and across Guadalupe Street. The café was in a single-story structure on the corner with signage advertising it was open 24-7.

“It's a great place to grab breakfast if you live near here.”

“Do a lot of the kids in mass-com live around here?”

She opened the door and went in ahead of him. “Yeah, most of us. Study together and party together, ya know?”

“Makes sense.”

“Booth okay?” Sam asked, pointing to the last one on the left.

Nick nodded and slid into the seat opposite her, trying not to disturb the cotton stuffing that was falling out of the cracked upholstery. “Busy place.”

“Great food and huge portions. On the days I have an early class, I get the short stack and then I skip lunch.”

“What's good?” There were single-sheet laminated menus on the table behind the condiments, but Nick didn't bother with them. He figured it was wise to trust a native.

“Their club sandwich—with the ham, smoked turkey, and the other stuff—is delicious. And it comes with a shitload of fries.”

“Sounds good.”

A waiter, who was probably also a student, approached. “You guys know what you want?”

“Yeah, two clubs on sourdough,” Nick ordered, taking the lead out of force of habit.

“Make mine whole wheat,” Sam spoke up. “And a Coors Light.”

“Ditto.”

“It'll be right out,” the waiter said.

“So what's your story, Nick?” Sam's eyes were a peaceful blue but laser focused on his.

“Story? Three tours in Afghanistan, and all I got was some shrapnel in my leg, college tuition, and my friend Harley. What's your story?”

Sam smiled. “My parents think I should get a degree so I can take care of myself. That's why I picked film and TV studies. I think I'm pretty enough to go on TV….Don't you?”

“Definitely TV material. Prime time.”

“You're sweet, Nick. I'm taking drama classes and production with a concentration on television. Next summer I'll intern at one of my dad's stations.”

“Your dad has his own TV stations?”

“Only three,” she answered nonchalantly.

“Here you go.” The server set their sandwiches on the table.

Sam squirted a generous amount of ketchup on her French fries, then popped one in her mouth before picking up her sandwich and taking a bite.

Nick followed her lead and ate in silence until all they had left were French fries. She had been right about the quantity.

“Who's Harley?” she asked.

“He's my service dog….You know, keeps me calm. I'll probably bring him to some of the classes.”

“That's cool. I like dogs.”

“Me too, but my doc says I should spend more time with people.”

“Really?” Sam smiled gently. “Your doc?”

“Yeah…some leftover shit from the war.”

“PSDT stuff?”

Nick glanced at her and ate another French fry to keep from rolling his eyes. “Yeah,
PTSD
…stuff.”

“You look so sad…and lonely.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “How about coming with me tonight? Ya know, it'll give you a chance to meet some people and have some fun.”

Nick didn't answer immediately

“Oh, come on. It'll be good for you. You and I can be study buddies…you know, watch some films and TV shows together.”

“Sounds rough.” Nick smiled.

“Sam!” a guy's voice shouted from behind Nick.

“Hey, Bane! Come join us!” She scooted toward the window and the new guy sat down.

“Nick, this is Bane…Bane, Nick. Nick's new to UT. He's in my film and TV class.”

Bane reached his fist out and Nick reciprocated with a bump. “Bane. Interesting name.”

Bane laughed. “I get that a lot. I was born in Ocean Pointe, near Honolulu, but my mother was German.”

“Why go to school here?” Nick asked. He pushed his half-finished plate of French fries toward Bane, who gratefully started eating them.

“My parents needed some alone time….I was a bad boy, I guess.” He shrugged and grinned, more proud than apologetic.

“I get that,” Nick said, not really getting it at all. Of the thousands of major universities in the United States, why UT? Especially when Hawaii was an option.

Bane turned toward Sam. “You guys should come over later. I've got some new loosies.”

“You game, Nick?”

“Yeah…I'm all about it. In fact…I happen to have some with me.” Nick had spent yesterday afternoon with his chemist friend coming up with a formula for special loosies that would fool, but not kill, people. They were in the usual fruit flavors that all the others were, but instead of THC, the circles contained traces of nutmeg, which was not only legal but harmless. Hopefully the nutmeg and the placebo effect would make the participants think the euphoria they were feeling was a THC high. He knew it was a gamble, but as with most advertising campaigns, he was counting on the gullibility of the audience, and college kids should be easy targets, especially if they were already a little high on other drugs or alcohol.

The next few hours passed, with a changing cast of Sam's friends coming and going. Several more orders of fries, beer, soft drinks, and burgers were shared among the new arrivals, thanks to Nick's generous expense account.

“Hey, let's get out of here,” Sam finally suggested. Bane had left earlier, but apparently his place was the regular hangout, so it was understood that would be the destination.

Everyone obediently slid out of the booth, and soon there were six of them making the quick four-block walk to Bane's house. It was a two-story midcentury just off fraternity row and, by the number of beer cans on the front porch, a popular place to hang out.

“Hey, Bane!” Sam yelled as soon as they arrived.

Bane's head popped out of a second-floor, corner-room window. “Be right down, guys.”

They made themselves comfortable in the mix-and-match collection of chairs on the front porch. Nick tried not to kick over any of the dozen or so cans that were overflowing with cigarette butts as he sat down on a rickety rocker.

“I'd go easy on that, buddy….It collapsed a couple of weeks ago,” one of the guys cautioned.

“Thanks.” Nick didn't want to seem like a wuss by getting up, so he tried not to move and disrupt the delicate balance.

“Two kids were getting some tongue time, and I guess they were a little…overenthusiastic,” Sam explained.

“Hey, guys,” Bane said as he popped out on the porch with a tall blond girl in tow.

“Oh hi, Nick. Glad you could make it.” Bane held out his fist for a bump.

Nick stood and completed the obligatory man shake. Apparently Bane was big on fist bumps. “Just hanging with Sam.”

“This is Jess.” Bane wrapped his arm around the blond girl's neck and pulled her closer to him in a hold that was more possessive than affectionate.

Jess eyed Nick critically. “How old are you, anyway?”

Nick tried not to react and managed an amused grin. “Old enough to get shot at in 'Stan. When I got out, I said,
What the fuck? Why not school?
” He met her gaze steadily. “You?”

“Never mind her,” Sam said, giving Jess a warning glare. “She does that to anyone who looks over twenty.”

“I'm definitely over twenty.” He shrugged. “They call me a nonconventional student.”

Bane held out his fist for yet another bump.

Nick was beginning to think the kid had a problem.

“Way to go, dude,” Bane declared with admiration. “You do loosies?”

“Among other things.” Nick pulled the baggie out of his backpack, pulled one out for himself, and passed the rest to Sam. Working undercover, he had to be convincing, even partaking, if necessary. In the course of his job, he'd bought and sold drugs on the street. But he couldn't, in all good conscience…or probably even legally…give loaded loosies to minors. And he wanted to use his supply because he knew it was safe. “Enjoy.”

“Really? Cool.” Sam took one and passed it along.

“Thanks, dude.” Bane nodded his approval.

“Hey, what kind of guest would I be if I smoked yours?” Nick asked.

Once everyone had one, they lit them up and drew in long and deep, then exhaled slowly.

“Hmm…strawberry. Nice…,” Jess said as she savored the flavor.

“This is good stuff. Did you make it?” Bane asked.

Nick chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, I don't cook anything….I got a guy I trust. I heard kids are dropping dead from these things.”

The mood on the porch changed abruptly, darkening as if a thundercloud had blocked the sun.

“What?” Nick looked from one face to another.

Sam spoke up softly, almost whispering. “Bane lost a housemate a couple of weeks ago. Several kids we know have gotten sick.”

“Who's selling that shit?” Nick pretended to be indignant when, in fact, he was anxiously listening for a name.

“Why the big interest, dude?” a girl named Jess asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You a cop or something?”

Nick knew how to laugh off a challenge. He'd been in plenty of situations where if he'd been revealed, his career would have been immediately and violently terminated. “What the fuck? Really?” He snorted in disgust. “We're sitting here smoking my shit, talking about kids who have died from smoking someone else's shit! Do I look like a narc?”

She studied him for a minute. “Nah, not really. You don't have a ponytail or a pierced ear. For some reason narcs always think that makes them blend in. Sorry.”

“No problem.” Nick waved it off. “In the military, we didn't tolerate informers or spies. We'd tie them up and dump them in the latrine. By the time they climbed out, they had a whole different attitude.”

Jess burst out laughing and choked on her last hit. She staggered to the railing and spit onto the dust and weeds that was once a lawn.

“You okay?” Bane asked, laughing, but made no attempt to help her.

Jess recovered and rejoined the group. “I need a beer…between hits.”

“Go get us some beer,” he ordered Jess, and gave her a slap on the ass as she got off his lap.

Jess disappeared through the open front door and returned quickly with beers, which she passed out to everyone.

Nick eagerly took a big swig. This was a vice he definitely embraced.

“So, how many guys did you kill in combat, Nick?” Bane asked.

“A few. I didn't count.”

“So, you're like that sniper dude from the movie?” Sam asked.

“Nah, he was in a whole different league. I was just part of the team….Go out and clear the buildings, you know?”

“How does it feel to kill someone?” Bane persisted.

“It's pretty fucked up. MK318 bullets do nasty shit to flesh and bone. If I never see any more blood and guts, I'll be just fine.” Nick dropped his head and stared at the scuffed toes of his Doc Martens. This was actually getting too close to home, pulling up memories he'd rather not have bouncing around inside his head. “Yeah…it fucked me up a little. I've got a service dog named Harley…to get me through the bad times.”