Rum Balls
Meg Perry
Bunche Hall, UCLA
Historians are a strange lot. I,
Jamie Brodie, am allowed to state that, since I’m one of them. (Technically I’m
a history librarian, but still.) We
are only truly interested in our own area of study and will yammer on for hours
about it with minimal prompting. I’ve even witnessed a couple of fistfights
over matters as trivial as the purpose of Hadrian’s Wall. Did he build it to
keep the Picts out, or his own soldiers in?
(Totally
to keep the Picts out. The Romans were vastly outnumbered, and Hadrian knew it.
The Picts were determined…)
Ahem. I digress.
UCLA’s history department is a proud
bastion of oddity. My friend, Reuben Wolfe, will launch into a detailed
discourse on the distinction between Pharisees and Sadducees with the least bit
of encouragement. The department chair, Oscar Medeiros, loves to expound upon
the political history of Nicaragua to anyone who will stand still. My least
favorite professor, Marc Ballou, has a detailed mental map of every historic
rancho in California, and will be pleased to inform you as to whom the land on
which your house sits once belonged.
And then there’s Guy Snowden.
Snowden teaches occult studies, whatever the hell that means, which IMHO would fit better into sociology, or
anthropology, or psychology...somewhere,
anywhere other than history. But no.
We’re stuck with him.
A few years ago he became entangled
in a bit of police business, and was temporarily suspended when a handful of
his former students was ritually murdered by a different handful of his former
students. I kid you not. This was major news at UCLA, naturally, not to mention
being incredibly bad publicity for
the history department. Everyone in the department had dissected every detail
of the crime, wondering aloud if they should have known…
At the time I asked my brother
Kevin, an LAPD homicide detective, about it; he’d rolled his eyes. LAPD had
assigned a couple of high-profile investigators to a task force which, quoting
Kevin, was “a fucking waste of time.” As it turned out, Snowden himself solved
the crimes, thereby achieving his reinstatement to the university. I didn’t
know anything else about it.
Snowden wasn’t bad looking for an
older guy. I guessed that he was in his mid-fifties. He was a few inches
shorter than me and appeared to be in decent shape. He had long silvery hair
and favored loose shirts, velvet vests, and Birkenstocks. Faintly ridiculous,
to say the least. My husband Pete spotted him once at a gathering of Oxford
University alumni and chuckled for the rest of the evening.
At that meeting, to my chagrin, I’d
learned that Snowden was a fellow Rhodes Scholar. To my mind, he was the worst
kind of Rhodes Scholar: he’d returned from his time in England - no more than
three or four years, mind you - with a fake British accent. At the alumni meeting,
he and I had exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes; when he’d walked away,
Pete had muttered, “You’re fucking kidding
me. Does he think he’s fooling anyone with that accent?”
I neither knew nor cared. But the
experience cemented my opinion of Snowden as a total poser.
Snowden was also gay. I knew this
because I’d run into him once - figuratively speaking - at Cloak and Dagger
Books, my favorite mystery bookstore. Turned out he was involved with Adrien
English, the owner. I didn’t know Adrien well, but Snowden sure didn’t fit my idea of Adrien’s type. Apparently he
didn’t fit Adrien’s idea, either; Snowden had since been replaced with a tall,
blond ex-cop.
Snowden never consulted me for
research assistance, which suited me just fine. That way I only had to
encounter him when, as the library liaison to the history department, I
attended department meetings. Or when, as was the case today, I was invited to
the department holiday party.
The party was scheduled for 3:30 pm.
At 3:20, Avery Roth appeared at my office door. Avery was a former librarian,
now a doctoral student in history. Avery’s topic of study was notorious Roman
emperor Caligula; Reuben Wolfe was her faculty adviser.
Avery was balancing a party platter
covered in aluminum foil and a glass bowl which looked like it might contain
spinach dip. I said, “Need some help?”
“Yes, please.” She handed me the
bowl. “Now it won’t look as if you’re coming empty-handed.”
“You said I didn’t have to bring
anything!”
“You didn’t.” She grinned. “But this
way no one will make snide comments. Not that they would anyway.”
“Not if they want their research
requests answered speedily, they won’t.”
She laughed. “You have a fast lane
and a slow lane?”
“Of course I do. Rule number one for
university faculty: Don’t piss off the librarians.”
“Words to live by. Come on.”
We left the library and crossed the
plaza to Bunche Hall, where we rode the elevator to the proper floor. I could
hear the merriment already leaking out of the conference room down the hall. When
we appeared at the door, Oscar Medeiros raised a Solo cup of punch in our
direction. “Jamie! Avery! You’re just in time.”
We returned greetings and carried
Avery’s veggies and dip to the table. I left her to unwrap the goodies and
“excuse me”-d to the stack of plastic plates at the end, delighted to see that
the plates were dinner-sized. Occasionally at such functions, the plates were
only big enough to hold three meatballs and a celery stick.
I loaded up with meatballs in three
flavors, plenty of Avery’s baby carrots and spinach dip, and a mound of Reuben
Wolfe’s 100-proof rum balls. Reuben’s rum balls were rightfully famous among
the faculty, and they always disappeared fast. I didn’t want to miss out.
I said hello to Reuben and was
chatting with him and Avery about Caligula when I spotted Guy Snowden across
the room - and did a double take when I saw who was with him, nearly dropping
my plate.
Peter Verlane.
A couple of years ago I’d taught as
an adjunct in the history department for extra income. Verlane had been in my
medieval history class. He’d been a lazy student, who turned in sloppily
researched papers but would waste precious minutes of class time arguing with
me about the most mundane facts. He’d been an insolent little prick. So when he
was arrested halfway through the quarter in conjunction with the ritual murders
of Snowden’s students, I thought, Good
riddance. He never formally dropped the class, so I was forced to give him
an F at the end of the quarter, since he’d only finished half the coursework.
Why the fuck wasn’t he still in
jail?
I would have ignored both of them,
but unfortunately Verlane spotted me as soon as I noticed him. His face
reddened, and he said something to Snowden, who glanced my way and lifted his
Solo cup. I nodded in return. Verlane said something else, and they headed my
way.
I murmured to Avery, “Incoming.”
“Who, Ballou?” She turned, saw
Snowden, and said, “Oh. Shit.”
Reuben said, “Gee whiz. Places to
go, people to see.”
I muttered, “Coward.”
He grinned and vamoosed. Avery, who
feared nothing and no one, stuck by me. She whispered, “Who’s that with him? Is
that the kid…”
“Yup.”
Snowden and Verlane arranged
themselves so that Avery and I were trapped between them and a wall. Purposely?
I wasn’t sure. Snowden said, “Jeremy. What a pleasant surprise.”
Another thing about Snowden: he
insisted on using my full first name. Just another of his bizarre affectations.
I said, “Hey, Guy, good to see you, too. Peter, are you on work-release or
something?”
Snowden tut-tutted. Verlane scowled.
“I served my time.”
Snowden added, “Peter is on parole.
He’s paid his debt to society.”
I seriously doubted that. Verlane
practically spit out, “I couldn’t come back to school here, thanks to you.”
I had to laugh. “Whoa, there. How is
it my fault that you committed three
counts of conspiracy to murder?”
“You gave me an F in your class.”
Avery snorted. I sighed. “Well,
Peter, you didn’t drop the course, and you’d only completed half the work. I
didn’t have another choice.”
“You could have given me an incomplete.”
“You
would have had to request an
incomplete. We don’t just hand them out like raffle tickets. Guy should have
told you that.”
Snowden said, “I have explained our
grading system, yes. Fortunately, Peter is continuing his education at CSU-Northridge.”
“Outstanding. Good luck, Peter. If I
find any pentagrams painted on my sidewalk, I’ll point the cops in your
direction.”
Verlane snarled. Snowden sighed.
“That won’t be necessary.”
I didn’t get the impression that
Verlane agreed.
Snowden chose to change the subject.
He arched an eyebrow in my direction. “Jeremy, that’s an impressive collection of balls
on your plate.”
Hoo boy. Sounded like Snowden had
already been enjoying the rum balls. Avery burst out laughing. I said, “I don’t
share my balls, Guy. Sorry.”
“No?” Snowden was smiling
suggestively. He was an attractive guy...but hell to the no.
“Nope.” I popped a meatball into my
mouth. “Only with my husband.”
“What a shame. You do realize that
monogamy is not a realistic
expectation for healthy adult males, don’t you?”
“That depends on the healthy adult
male, doesn’t it?” I speared another meatball with a toothpick and pointed it
in Verlane’s direction. “What’s your position on monogamy, Peter?”
Verlane clamped his lips together.
He was frowning so deeply that his eyebrows met.
Snowden sighed. “Ah, Jeremy. Let’s
not be combative in this holiday season. Have you visited Cloak and Dagger
recently?”
“Yep, a couple of weeks ago. I
understand that Adrien is engaged.”
Snowden made a sound of disdain.
“Indeed. What a rum do that’s been. I
cannot fathom Adrien’s attraction to that asshole
Riordan.”
Verlane was still snarling. “Asshole
cop.”
Avery said, “Watch it, Peter.
Jamie’s married to an ex-cop and my dad is a cop. You’re surrounded.”
Verlane paled. Snowden shook his
head sadly. “Et tu, Jeremy?”
I grinned at him. “Uh huh.”
Hahahaha. That was great!
ReplyDelete:D Thanks!
DeleteHow delightful. Thanks Meg! Uh huh.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Lori! :D
DeleteLOL!!! Oh, excellent. What a great way to start my day! You go, Jamie!!
ReplyDelete:D Thanks!
DeleteLOL I love this. :-D
ReplyDeleteGuy at UCLA... I couldn't resist.
DeleteThat was a fun little snippet! :D
ReplyDeleteThanks! I love crossovers!
ReplyDeleteHaha! Oh, what fun!
ReplyDeleteThis is fantastic. Jamie is awesome. Guy, um, not so much LOL
ReplyDeleteGuy and Peter! Thanks Meg!
ReplyDeleteMymymble
OMG, this was great. I loved it. LOL!
ReplyDelete‘total poser!” Anyway, that made me laugh out loud! Thank you, Meg.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Meg. I always enjoy these Jamie Brodie/Adrien English crossovers:)
ReplyDeleteOMG, this is SO good!!!!
ReplyDeleteUh huh, LOL!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Meg, for the smiles...and some really loud snorting, too. lol.
ReplyDeleteThank you all!! This was SO much fun to write. I couldn't resist. Bunche Hall and Jamie's library are almost right next to each other on campus.
ReplyDeleteThis was so cute! I can just picture those awful company/social events with all the behind the scenes gossiping & snarky comments....but it was nice to have Peter & Guy still together, Thanks!
ReplyDeleterdafan7
excellent, thanks
ReplyDeleteLoved the bit about Guy's accent being fake!
ReplyDelete