Alma Mater (22 page)

the fading away of the drumbeat on the last song, I'd have the whole band turn its back to the opposing side and drop trou. That kind of
legend."

"Wouldn't it be more exciting if they showed their front, too?"
Chris giggled.

"I could catch a pass, make the touchdown, of course, and then
keep running, just keep running," Charly offered.

"Poetic." Chris smiled.

"Come on, we've got to do something," Vic persisted. "We've got
to let people know we were here. Provoke them to top us."

"What about locking all the doors to the administrative offices?
You know, taking a soldering iron and sealing the locks shut," Charly
suggested.

"Good," Chris said appreciatively.

"We could paint the grass on the quad," Charly suggested.
"Paint what?" Chris asked.

"A naked lady," Charly said.

"Only excite half the students. Have to paint a naked man, too," Chris added.

"I don't know," Vic said. "Everybody likes a naked lady." She didn't
care what she said, she felt so free.

"What about all those teeny weenies dragged through campus by Mommy and Daddy?" Chris imagined the outrage. Plus the adminis
tration was still trying to live down the Alpha Tau incident.

"Well, let's do something." Chris finished the last of her fries. She
would have hated to leave any.

"Follow me." Vic stood up.

_T

he elderly monsignor of St. Bede's parish lived in a tidy house
directly across from the church. A faithful laborer under the
sign of the cross, his was an obedient nature. Monsignor Geof-

frey Whitby believed in the sacraments, kept his questions about the
infallibility of the pope to himself, and exhibited little or no sense of
humor. Nothing about Christianity was funny to him. He couldn't
imagine a waiter at the Last Supper calling out "Fettucini for Jesus." Or
Mary Magdalene wearing a lift-and-separate bra. No. Christianity had
to be solemn, serious, even censorious. If the God of the Old Testa
ment only laughed two times, then so it would be for Monsignor
Whitby. Therefore when he glanced out his upstairs window on that
velvety night and beheld the Blessed Virgin Mother being transformed,
he was not amused.

The Blessed Virgin Mother looked fetching in an apron, a chef's hat on her head, a hibachi in front of her. In her upraised hand, the
one giving the blessing, Vic had taped a long fork with a blue handle.
Rubber chickens laid on the hibachi. A blackboard announced in col-

ored chalk,
MARY'S BAR-B-QUE.

Vic and Charly had worked to transform the Mother of Jesus into
a more contemporary mother while Chris, after writing the sign on the
blackboard, had watched out for intruders.

When Monsignor Whitby, still wearing bedroom slippers, bar-

reled out the front door of the house, Chris was amazed that an old man could move so quickly.

"Blasphemers!" He shook his fist.

"I've never seen a face exactly that color of purple," Vic gasped as
Chris turned and broke into a dead run.

Charly replied, "I think that's the normal color of his nose. You
ready to leave this party?"

They both ran out the back way, soon overtaking Chris. They flew
down Richmond Road. Chris, not the athlete the other two were,
begged for mercy.

Vic and Charly skidded to a stop and then turned back. Each one
grabbed an arm and picked her up off her feet. They shuffled a few steps with her then got to laughing so hard they nearly dropped her.

"Oh, my God, the monsignor," Chris gasped. "He's going to die of
heart failure."

Charly hummed a few bars of "Nearer My God to Thee," which set
them off again.

"Mary looked great. She looked happy. She looked young. If the
monsignor loved her he'd buy her an entire wardrobe. That would
make any woman happy." Vic wiped her eyes.

In the distance they heard a siren. At first they paid no attention to
the whining sound, but it kept getting closer and then cut off near
where the church stood.

Charly frowned. "I bet the monsignor called the cops."

"Because of Our Lady of the Barbecue? We didn't harm anything."
Chris suddenly had a vision of herself calling her father from the police station. This was not one of those reassuring visions where the
Blessed Mother appeared to bestow her grace. She could imagine her
father yanking her right out of school. He complained enough as it
was about paying out-of-state tuition.

Vic checked her watch. "Charly, you'll never make it back on
time."

"One thing at a time. Let's split up. I think I can get back in the
dorm. Anyway, that's my problem. I'd rather not face the monsignor."

"Good idea," Vic agreed. "Chris, I'll take the longest route home by the east side of campus."

"Okay "

Charly loped to the corner, waved, and crossed the road as the two
women quickly walked in opposite directions.

The police cruiser slowly drove by. Vic had the presence of mind
to duck into a convenience store, where she bought a magazine. She
watched the cop from inside. The monsignor might be old, but he
wasn't blind, so she hoped he didn't get that good a look at them.
She'd be easy to describe. How many six-feet-one-inch women with
jet-black hair were there? Not that he would get her height exactly
right.

Once the coast was again clear, Vic meandered homeward. A light
shone in Chris's window. She tossed a small stone. Bull's-eye.

Chris opened the bedroom window, the cool November air rush
ing in. "Come on up."

Vic opened the back door, bounding up the steps, taking them in
twos and even threes. The door to the apartment was open.

"I'm in the bedroom."

Vic closed the door behind her and dashed into the bedroom.
Chris, wearing only her jeans, smiled. Vic wrapped her arms around
Chris's small waist. She kissed her lips and then ran her tongue from her breasts down to the top of her jeans. Chris put her
hand behind
Vic's neck, leaning back.

"1
have to have you." She picked Chris up, gently placing
her on
the.bed. She covered her, kissing her, biting her, her head pounding.
"Take your clothes off," Chris gasped.

Vic rolled off, pulled her shirt over her head, unbuttoned her
501s
with one swift motion of her hand, and untied her sneakers as Chris
pulled off her own jeans.

The house was cool, a counterpoint to the heat of their bodies.
Chris drew back the covers as Vic grabbed her from behind and bent
her over the side of the bed.

"I love your ass." Vic's breasts touched Chris's back as she entered
her with her fingers.

Chris crashed through the biggest orgasm she'd ever had, amazed
at what Vic could do to her, amazed at her own body.

Chris, facing her, stomach flat against Vic's, rested her forehead on
Vic's shoulder. "We don't even know what we can do."

A knock on the door brought their heads up.

"Chris," Charly called from the other side of the door.

"Oh, shit," Chris whispered.

Vic hopped out of bed, grabbed Chris's robe. "He couldn't get in
the dorm. I have to let him in."

"Wait. I'll put on my robe and answer the door. You put on your
clothes."

"Right." Flustered, Vic ripped off the robe, threw it at Chris while
reaching for her jeans.

Chris ran her fingers through her hair, shook it, and then hurried
for the door. "Be right there."

She opened the door and a grateful Charly stepped in. The tem
perature outside had dropped into the high forties, and he was wearing
only a shirt, no jacket.

"I'm sorry to bother you—I'm stuck." He grinned. "Vic's not home,
so I thought she might be here. I'm locked out."

"I'm here." Vic, hair combed, clothes back on—although she was
in her bare feet—walked into the small living room. "God, Charly, you
must be cold."

Had Charly not been raised as a Virginia gentleman, he would
have said, You can warm me up. But he didn't. "Never compromise a
lady good enough to share her body with you" was a rule drummed
into his head. "A little." He smiled.

"Sit down." Chris breathed deeply. Maybe they'd wiggle out of
this. "Let me get you coffee or something to warm you up."

"Thanks, but it'll keep me awake."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Uh—thank you."

Chris went into the kitchen, and Vic sat next to him on the sofa.
He could smell her sweet odor, he could smell the sex, but thought it was his desire.

"Let's hope Todkill doesn't check your room." He was the graduate
student in charge of keeping the football players in line during season.

"You've got one last game to play. It'd be awful to miss it." She paused
and then smiled. "'Course, they haven't a prayer without you."

"I haven't missed a curfew in four years." He dropped back on the
sofa and put his hand on his knee. "If Coach finds out and benches me,
well, I'll be bummed, but it's the only time I've screwed up."

Chris returned with hot chocolate, one for each of them. She
needed chocolate. She sat across from the sofa in the comfortable
Queen Anne chair.

"Come on, sit on the other side of Charly. He's cold." Vic smiled.
Chris rose, left the room, returning with a red blanket she draped
over his shoulders. But she did sit next to him.

"Body heat." Vic felt incredibly excited. She wasn't sure why.

Chris looked over at Vic, picking up on her energy. She thought
Vic was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen and Charly was quite handsome. It made sense that they would marry, but the thought
of it tore her heart out. She wanted to marry Vic.

"Men would kill to be in my position." He laughed. "Being a little
cold—hey, it's worth it."

"Flatterer," Chris replied, the shawl collar of her robe gaping just
enough to reveal the outline of a lovely breast.

Charly noticed, his face reddening.

Vic noticed, a surge of lust flaming through her. Then she realized
Charly had also noticed.

He turned to Vic, his face flushed, saw that hers was, too. Charly
was not an unintelligent human. Chris was in her robe. Vic in her bare
feet. It had taken Chris a little while to reach the door
_;
Vic had
emerged from the bedroom. He got it. His first reaction was shock. Not that the two women were sleeping together, but that Vic, his woman, was sleeping with Chris. Fear rapidly swept in where shock
had been. Mingled with the fear was desire. His dick began to stiffen. It
was confusing. He didn't want them to know he knew. He placed his
mug on the coffee table, folding his hands in his lap, but it was too late.

Vic winked at Chris, "Honey, I think you're causing distress." She
patted her own breast.

"Uh." Chris looked down then pulled her robe tighter. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry." Vic laughed. "You've given us both pleasure." She