More Bitter Than Death: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,65
common language,” Sue said.
“Look at the differences between Americans and Canadians,” Carla said.
“Well, Canadians are just funny Americans,” Jay added. Carla kicked at his ankle; he dodged her foot but sloshed his drink all over his lap.
“You know, you’re right,” she said. “That was pretty funny.”
“Nell and I don’t imagine that we’re becoming people from the seventeen sixties,” Chris continued doggedly. “But we are learning about some of the things that make us different, learning how people would have had to think. Gives some insight into what we find in the field.”
“I think those shows are much better as laboratory cases of how twenty-first-century people adapt to adverse conditions,” I said. “But I still don’t get the desire to be on television.”
“Why not?” Lissa said.
“For a start, I don’t like the idea of losing my privacy like that. As much as I really don’t want to see other people having hissy-fits on television, I don’t want my own aired either.”
“The Puritans would have asked you what you have to hide, if you want that much privacy,” Lissa said.
“Sure. If you’re not doing something you shouldn’t, there’s no reason to want to be alone. Fortunately, I live in a time where people are aware that rats, stressed out and overcrowded, will go bonky and eat their young or each other. So I’ll take my locked doors and drawn curtains and no neighbors, thanks all the same.”
“Hey, don’t knock the Puritans. They slept a dozen to a bed, so they weren’t all bad,” Lissa said. “But seriously, Emma, the Puritans were your people. So what have you got to hide behind all those curtains?” There was an edge to the way she spoke, like she was trying to drum up anything that would be a distraction. “And why do you scorn the light of the media?”
I was growing annoyed with her. “They weren’t my people, Lissa. And I haven’t got anything to hide.”
“Oh, come on,” she persisted. “Everyone does.”
“Where you off to next, Emma?” Jay interrupted. He seemed as frustrated with Lissa’s persistence as I.
“Session on immigration,” I said, grateful for the cover he provided me. “One of my students is presenting.”
“Cool, I’ll go with you.”
“Me too,” said Scott. “But I got to run to my room first. You guys come with me.”
“Fine, as long as I can use your bathroom,” I said.
We went up to Scott’s room on the fourth floor. He was about halfway down the hallway, and when we went in, I was hit with a strong scent of locker room. And it wasn’t a locker room that had been cleaned any time recently.
“Jeez, Scott!” I said. “This place reeks!”
He looked around. “It’s not that bad.”
“Trust me.” I spotted the problem. “You’ve got underwear on the radiator?”
He looked sheepish. “I didn’t think they’d dry fast enough, hanging in the bathroom.”
I realized that he said that he still had no luggage with him. Based on the implications of this, I decided that the conversation needed to stop right here.
Jay, however, wasn’t so discreet. “So you’re freeballing today?”
“Jay!” Scott turned scarlet, and whipped around to look at me. I shrugged; I’d heard of men’s body parts and what happened when all the laundry was in the hamper. “What do you want, man? It was either go commando while these things dry or get a case of the itch. It’s not like you never got into a jam and—”
That was too much reality for me. “Excuse me, I need to be out of here,” I said, heading for the bathroom. “Scott, you could at least get them off the radiator.”
“It’s not the shorts, Em. It’s the rest of my clothes smelling up the place while I’m in bed. The heat doesn’t help, and my deodorant was in my suitcase.”
I shut the door as Jay informed Scott that he should raid the sundries shop in the lobby. I tried not to listen as Scott said he didn’t want to spend the extra money when his stuff might show up at any moment, and when did Jay, borrowing Chris’s money, last I saw, suddenly become so willing to spend money? I sighed, finished up quickly, and returned to the room before their tempers could fray any further.
With as little stuff as Scott had of his own things, the place was a tip. Housekeeping hadn’t been in yet—always a hazard with the irregular schedule of a conference—and there were three trays with leftovers adding to the smell.