me well, both in terms of reliability and gas mileage. However, upon first sight of the vehicle, my thoughts drifted back to my beloved Bentley, which had only recently been sold. With a philosophical shrug, I started theToyota and took a get-acquainted drive before meeting Bob.
Madison is shaped like a woman squeezed into a too-tight whale-bone corset, with upper and lower extremities that narrow tightly into an isthmus between two moderately-sized lakes, the Capitol visible virtually everywhere near the downtown area, towering above all other buildings; later, I discovered that a city ordinance in fact makes it illegal for any building to be above a certain height and thus obscure the citizenry's view of their Capitol.
I liked what I saw during that initial drive. The city appeared tidy and well-maintained, the wildly eclectic architecture attractive, except in the badly dilapidated student areas. The campus was lovely, especially the lakeshore section. A road that runs the length of the campus traverses an elevated section affording a stunning view of the lake, the entire shoreline and a finger-like peninsula called Picnic Point.
Bob was staying at the Concourse Hotel, just off the Capitol Square, an odd term because, though the Capitol and its sprawling lawn is bordered by four streets which meet at right angles, the road surrounding the Capitol actually runs in a circle. (Further irony: Another quartet of streets, on the outside of theCapitol Square , is known as the Outer Ring.)
"Can I get you something?" the bartender at the Concourse asked. I had just arrived - five minutes late - but Bob was not yet there. Thanking the bartender but declining his polite offer, I took a seat in a corner near a window that faced the Outer Ring and waited, enjoying the opulence of my immediate surroundings: the chair was solid rosewood, upholstered with satin, the table before me matched the chair, its surface polished to a highly reflective sheen, and this little corner was set off with floor-to-ceiling brass posts that possessed not a single smudge nor fingerprint.
After the bartender had asked me three times, I allowed the young, fleshy fellow to mix me a scotch and soda, but the drink sat untouched on the table in front of me. Bob still had not arrived which seemed queer; if punctuality was to be considered a virtue, Johnson was indeed a Pollyanna.
He finally arrived at 9:30, face flushed, brow knitted. Seeing him, I promptly ordered another scotch and soda, for he looked in need of a cocktail.
"Al," he began, out of breath, before even taking a seat, "I'm sorry I'm late - "
"Please, Robert, take a seat." The bartender brought over the cocktail and took my money as Bob sat and took a healthy sip.
Bob took a furtive glance at the bartender as he walked back to the bar. "Something terrible happened." His voice was hushed.
I exhaled loudly. Too loudly.
Bob met my gaze, then looked away. He did seem quite agitated. "God, I'm sorry about this, about everything. I never should've told you to come out here. It was just a waste of money, and you don't have much left."
"Please relax, Robert," I replied calmly. "Tell me. What has happened? Is my position still available?"
Johnson's eyes glistened in the dim light, as if he were near tears, an expression far from the cool, confident composure he usually exhibited. "There's no job," he said, his voice shaking.
I nodded as calmly as possible and beckoned him to continue.
"Professor Hanson is dead." Bob took a big gulp of his cocktail. "The only option I had available for you, and it's gone. Dammit! There's other possibilities out there, but this probably isn't the best place for you to be, and what the hell are you supposed to do now? I don't think your landlord is just going to give you your money back after signing a lease for one year. Dammit, Al, I'm sorry."
As the saying goes, Bob was always the one to keep his head when everybody else around him was losing theirs, myself included. Now, it was I keeping him calm. This was rather inauspicious. "Please, Robert - Bob, relax. Professor Hanson is dead? What has happened?"
Bob picked up his glass, then put it back down again. "Turns out the old goat was screwing one of his students. Oddly enough, this all happened outside the context of the classroom. By all accounts, this young woman was quite brilliant, but for some reason, she took a job in a massage parlor. That's