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The woman in front of Toni was dressed in
black leather as Catwoman with a mask
covering her face…
"Hello, there," said the john…
The morning after having been arrested,
Toni walked down Western Avenue
into Harvard Square…
"You really look fantastic, Toni," her date said as she alighted from the limousine he had rented for the Mardi Gras ball.
She smiled and they headed for the entrance to Gund Hall, home of the Graduate School of Design. Going out with someone so good-looking was a major score.
They entered an explosive swirl of colors and sounds. Several bands and DJs were playing near top volume, but the music was drowned out by laughter and shrieks from the costumed crowd. The huge space was multi-leveled, with open student lofts extending all the way to a slanted glass ceiling; bright streamers hung from the loft balconies. The air was filled with the smell of champagne, sweat and perfume. All of Harvard's beautiful people, such as they were, had turned out for the event.
Sidestepping a huge papier-mache head resembling controversial Harvard lawyer Alan Dershowitz, the couple went in search of drinks. Following the trail of glow-in-the-dark planets and stars, they pushed their way downstairs and emerged into the blue-lit basement. Humming aquariums filled with exotic, brightly colored fish-real and plastic-covered every surface, and lava lamps undulated slowly. "Tainted Love" by Soft Cell was playing on the stereo, and the tinny, synthesized cover of the Supremes tune seemed somehow appropriate underwater.
Toni covertly checked her watch. She still had 50 minutes before the appointed hour.
The woman in front of her closed a slim mobile phone and looked at Toni with large hazel eyes. She was dressed in black leather as Catwoman--more Julie Newmar than Eartha Kitt--with a mask covering her face. Her costume fit her slim body snugly, showing off round, firm breasts and narrow hips. She had straight, shoulder-length hair that appeared light brown in the darkness--possibly blonde--and a thinnish face with a pointed chin. She stood the same height as Toni.
"You're on time," she said. "That's good… Why don't you tell me about your work?"
Toni took a step toward her. She felt slightly intoxicated, though she hadn't drunk any alcohol. It was as if she could already recognize the other woman's scent.
"At Crimson Escorts," she recited, "we try to give people what they want. Our experience is that they want the Harvard name."
"What else?"
Toni inched closer. "Harvard is a big fantasy. We sell it to people who never came here."
"And to the ones who didn't get lucky while they were here," the woman said.
"But now can afford the best."
Toni nodded, silently. Any closer and she would rub up against her.
"Hello, there," said the john. Toni got her first good look at him: average middle-aged white man, late forties, thinning hair, glasses. She could make out a little pot belly under the silk robe and pajamas. Real Hugh Hefner stuff, slippers and all.
"What would you ladies like to drink?" he asked, ushering them into the livingroom. He opened the minibar proudly.
"Any organic wine?" Desiree asked.
Rodney rummaged in the minibar and found a bottle. "And for you, brown sugar?"
Toni froze. Brown sugar? "Sherry," she said firmly. "I mean, my name's Sherry. I'd like a glass of Perrier to drink."
Desiree laughed. "Hey, that's pretty funny."
Rodney chuckled as he handed her the sparkling water. "Sherry, I can tell that you and I are going to get along just fine. I bet we'll be seeing each other a lot--or should I say we'll be seeing a lot of each other?"
Not if I see you first, you racist asshole, Toni thought. She took the glass from him and sipped.
Desiree peeled out of her gypsy blouse and skirt in no time. Toni wanted to run out of the room. But it wasn't that kind of party.
The morning after having been arrested for prostitution, Toni walked down Western Avenue to Putnam and into Harvard Square. The giant digital clock on the top of Cambridge Savings Bank read 9:02. Maybe she could look in on one of her classes for a change. She entered Harvard Yard, passing the statue of John Harvard. A Crimson Key member maneuvered a group of uniformed Korean schoolgirls on a campus tour. "This statue is called the statue of 3 lies," the Keyster droned while the schoolgirls giggled and slapped each other with their Hello Kitty bookbags. 3 lies, Toni thought. These are the best and the brightest. These are the best years of your lives. And this is all worth $20,000 a year.
Making a frenzied split-second decision, Toni headed for the tunnels, the twisting subterranean maze that lay beneath each house and wound its way to Harvard's central kitchen. This was student and dining-hall worker territory. She would have a better chance of escaping her pursuer here.
She yanked open the heavy metal door leading to the tunnels. Bright light poured out, momentarily blinding her. She covered her eyes and stepped in. Peering wildly in both directions, she chose the main tunnel.
She sped along halls covered with titillating graffiti. The only sounds in the echoing corridor were the staccato of her footsteps, followed by the heavier pounding of her pursuer.
Panting, she paused to catch her breath and look frantically about. She fled toward the experimental theater space. Psychedelic murals stretched on either side of her. Gaudy, cast-off props littered the corridor. She popped her head into a room painted entirely black--walls, ceiling, floor. The stale smell of pot and cigarette smoke hung heavily on the air. No one.
By now she was gasping so hard for breath that she couldn't hear him. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder. He was still there: a blurry figure dressed in black. Right behind her.
"Get away!" she shouted, throwing up her arm to shield herself. She spun around and ducked down a narrow passageway. Its stark white walls and gradually inclining floor indicated that it was one of the dining hall tunnels. She was 100s of yards away from the House now and didn't know her way around. It seemed there was no escape from the underground kitchens.
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"The Student Body" (ISBN 0-615-11344-3)
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