“A white face would make me look pasty, and I want to look hot.” She lowers her voice. “I have news about Brad.”
Brad? “Bradley Green?” My Bradley Green?
“The one and only. He doesn’t live with a girlfriend.”
Yes! “How do you know?”
“I found his number on the Internet and called him. The male voice on the voice mail said he couldn’t come to the phone.”
I look at her with expectation. “What? When? Why?”
“This afternoon. I’ve been waiting for you to do it yourself, but it seems to me you’re all talk and no action. So calling him was my gift to you for helping me study.”
Is she trying to steal my potential man? No, a friend wouldn’t do that. Although, Kimmy would. “Thank you. And…?”
Kimmy laughs. “For a bright girl, sometimes you’re not too swift. Don’t you see? He couldn’t come to the phone, not we as in him and potential skanky girlfriend.”
“I can’t believe you called him,” I say, partly in awe that she phoned him, and partly jealous that she heard his voice. “What did he sound like?”
“Sexy. Serious.”
Yes! Two qualities I adore. “You didn’t leave a message, did you?” I ask, suddenly panicked. She called an applicant. For me. You can’t call an applicant. That’s totally unethical.
“Don’t be crazy. I just listened to his message. And I blocked my number, so he won’t have a record of it on his caller ID. Quick, look like we’re busy talking.”
“I thought we were busy talking.”
“It’s Russ,” she hisses.
Ah. I knew something was going on. I peer around the room. “Where?”
“Stop looking! Keep talking.”
“All right. Have you started the new Economics assignment? I’ve been working on it all week. There is an incredible amount of work to do. At least Integrative Communications is over this week so we have more study time available.”
“Not about school. Talk about something else.”
Something else? What else is there to talk about? “Then you think of something to talk about.”
She sighs. “Why isn’t he coming over?”
I eye a bowl of my little M &M’s cousins with avarice, but I’m too paranoid about bacteria to indulge myself. Everyone knows that men don’t wash their hands after using the urinal.
A blinding flash of light erupts in her face. “Who’s he?” Jamie asks, lowering his camera. He’s dressed all in black with a T-shirt that reads The Enquirer.
“So, Mr. Paparazzi,” I say, hoping to help Kimmy dodge the question. “How are you tonight?”
“Pretty good. You look very sexy, Kimmy.” He picks up her hand and kisses it. She curtsies.
Then he picks up mine. “Layla, you look delicious.”
His fingers are warm and sweaty. I feel mildly uncomfortable whenever I’m around Jamie. I think it’s because of my association with Rosen Brothers, and that I was partly responsible for his job loss. I wonder how he worded his getting laid off in his LWBS application so that it didn’t work against him. “Thank you,” I say, trying to shake off my guilt.
Instead of kissing my hand, he licks it. “I was hoping you’d melt in my mouth.”
Kimmy nudges me and whispers, “He’s coming over,” before taking a long sip of her drink. I spot Russ, walking with Nick toward us.
Honestly, I don’t know what she’s so gaga about. Sure, he’s great-looking, but he seems uncomfortable in his skin, like his briefs are too tight. He’s dressed as Superman, with a cape around his neck, a big S sewn to his shirt.
Kimmy’s posture transforms. She is currently pushing out her chest and sucking in her stomach. “Hi, Russ. Do you want something to drink? Jamie?”
She’s certainly running with the geisha theme.
Russ taps the side of his plastic cup. “Sure, thanks.”
Jamie shakes his head no. “I only drink when I’m depressed, and I’m in a great mood. Hey ladies, how does it feel to be the best looking women here?”
Kimmy snorts. “We’re the only women here. We’re like the only women at LWBS.”
“Hopefully more women will get in next year,” I say. “If I have anything to say about it.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jamie asks me.
“I’m on the applications committee,” I explain.
“And you’re going to let in women just because they’re women?” he asks, his voice rising. “Is that fair? What about men who deserve the same right?”
My cheeks feel hot. “When the playing field is level, men can have the same rights. Giving women a slight advantage is more than fair, when you look at the history of discrimination.”
“Don’t you want the people in your class to be the best people? And not have to work with people just because they fill a quota?”
“An MBA class is stronger when it’s diverse. Just as our work groups are stronger when we’re not five engineers, our class is stronger if it’s not composed of a hundred white men.”
Jamie crosses his arms in front of him and furrows his unibrow. “I think people should be judged on what they bring to the table.”
“So do I,” I challenge. “I think women bring something different to the table.” Then I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. Jerk.
He raises the eyebrow. “I’m not a jerk because I have a different opinion.”
I laugh. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“Paparazzi knows everything.” He eyes the bowl of M &M’s. “Let’s talk about something else.” He scratches his head. “Do you know why our dorm is called the Zoo?”
My shoulders relax. Argument aborted. “No, I don’t.”
“The real estate magnate Richard M. Zuan built our residence for free as a donation and that’s what his friends called him. Zoo. Huh? Interesting stat.”
A knowledgeable jerk, then. “Very interesting. When I graduate, I’m going to donate money for a glorious salad bar in the cafeteria. I hate that there’s no salad bar. I’m obsessed with the idea. I was contemplating starting a petition.”
“Hilarious.” Jamie spots the bowl of M &M’s and digs his entire hand in. “So what else are you obsessed with? Homework?” He starts chomping away and a piece of green shell sticks to his lip.
“I’m a little obsessed with the Economics assignment.” The assignment I should be working on right now instead of staring at a green shell. Does he not feel the shell? Lick your mouth, dammit!
“You’ve started that already?”
Started? Is he kidding? “I’ve already written three drafts. I’m thinking of taking off in a few minutes to continue it.”
“It’s Friday night. And it’s Halloween. And the assignment isn’t due until Thanksgiving.”
“Don’t you see? That’s what I mean about obsession. I can’t stop thinking about it. I want it to be perfect.”
He shakes his head, and the green shell bobs from side to side. “You need to relax, darlin’. I think you need a drink.” He sighs. “The more I think about the assignment, the more depressed I get.”
I laugh again. “In that case, since you’re already depressed, why not join me?”
jamie is shockingly punctual
Monday, November 3, 9:10 a.m.
“I will be grading you on attendance,” Professor Small-Penis Matthews says. “Organizational Behavior is not optional.”
It is to some, I think, looking around.
Only ten of us have made it to class today. Ten out of sixty-six. Oy.
I’m not sure what amazes me more, that only ten people decided to come to class or that I’m one of them.
Those absent are most likely nursing hangovers from last night’s continuing Halloween bash. The student council bought too much beer for Friday’s party, so it decided to keep it flowing all weekend. Last night the common room was humming until three a.m.