Orange County Noir by Gary Phillips

Author:Gary Phillips [Phillips, Gary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-01-21T17:32:00+00:00

eannie is celebrating the rites of spring at Lake Mead this weekend," Hudson proclaimed with a deep rumble, taking his eye off me long enough to pack his pipe. "Initiating the drunken mating rituals of the collegiate slut with like-minded male strangers, a la Girls Gone Wild, no doubt."

I knew Jeannie. She wasn't a good girl. She liked to spread rumors that she was bedding her professors. I guess in Hudson's case, her immature bragging was true.

"The dickens of it is, Josh, I need to break into her room. Tonight."

"I just don't see you as the love-letter type, Hudson."

"I'm not, damn you." Hudson pawed his trim white beard. "The girl is crazy. She likes to play games that escalate. She sent me these."

Hudson tossed a folder. I pulled out a sheet of paper with porno magazine pictures of a man and woman glued to it.

"Doggy style. Does that have importance?"

"No."

The woman's head had been replaced with the face of a teenage girl, the man's with a gray-bearded geezer. "Hey, Wilford Brimley," I said, recognizing the actor from the diabetes commercials. A voice bubble from the girl said, Do I get an `A" yet? Wilford Brimley replied, No talking in class!

It was signed, Studiously yours, Jeannie.

"That's the first one," Hudson explained. He didn't seem embarrassed at all. I looked through the folder. There were a bunch more, each raunchier than the next.

"You replied in kind?"

"Yes, but mine were more sophisticated."

"And she's threatening you?"

"She's making outrageous demands. She wants honors. A TA position. She wants to hold hands on campus. She says she'll go public. I will not have my reputation tarnished, josh. It means everything."

I tossed the folder back. "I didri t know you had it in you."

Hudson stopped mid-puff. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Well, I mean, with your busy schedule, dating a younger woman who is also a serious head case could be a challenge."

Hudson glared hard before responding. "We weren't dating. We were screwing. Age wasn't an issue."

"I didn't mean that," I said, though that's exactly what I'd meant.

"I intend to have those letters back. Are you in?"

"Look, Hudson, there's no way. It's too crazy. I mean, c'mon. Plus, I've got somebody arriving into town tonight." That was true. I was doing one last interview with Hank Watson for my documentary about former prisoners from the frightful penitentiary in Moundsville, West Virgina.

Hank Watson, charged with burglary, kidnapping, assault. And that's just what got him into Texas' infamous Gatesville reform school as a teen in the '40s. He later graduated to much bigger, deadlier things. Hank needed special handling.

"Tenure reviews are next month," Hudson said.

There it was. Implied, limped around, now it was out on the table.

"I've got to pick someone. Joan is just as qualified, and with those legs, nicer to have around. Frankly, I think I have a shot at her."

"This is unfair. My film went to Sundance."

"You know how many lousy docs play up there? Doesn't mean squat. I was a judge at Sundance. Skied circles around Redford.

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