Such A Nice Girl (Part three of twelve)


Adult Content Warning
The following work of fiction may contain language, violence or themes considered unsuitable for young readers. Parental discretion is advised. (If this story was a film, it would likely pull a PG-13 rating.)
Such A Nice Girl
A Trick Molloy Mystery
©2008 Michael A. Stackpole
Part Three
The two school journals had covered a year each of her college career. Twenty-eight was current and only half full. Lexie had been a Junior at Coast College and according to a journal entry, Doctor Natalia Heron was her advisor. Admin sent me to the Sociology building, which surprised me, since Nicole had said Lexie was majoring in English.
“She was majoring in English, yes, Mr. Molloy.” Natalia Heron cleared a chair of DVDs in jewel-cases and bade me sit with a nod. “She’s started out in sociology, which is how I got her. When she changed majors, she wanted to stay with me. I worked it with the English department. She’s a very special girl.”
“She is. That’s why I’m looking for her.”
Natalia smiled as she seated herself. She had to be my age, maybe five years younger. Looked ten younger—not much older than the co-eds wandering around on campus. Trim with sharp features that gave her a vulpine cast, and bright blue eyes that sparked with life, she could have been very popular at Club Flesh—even with her lack of talent. She wore her white-blonde hair up, and I found myself itching to let it down.
“I’m gathering you work at Club Flesh, then?”
I blinked.
She laughed. “Sarah confided many things to me. She took the job there as a way to study the lower classes and what they have to do to make ends meet. Single mothers, girls with substance abuse problems and, yes, I know there are those who are business-women—they treat dancing as a job. Sarah made that all very clear in a paper she did for me last year. I have a copy, if it would help you.”
“I’d like that, thanks.” I tried to relax, and the state of the office made that possible. It wasn’t quite Nicoled out, but it had a lived-in feel. Things had been gathered into piles, pictures had been printed and tacked to the walls. While there were the few requisite bits of Coast College logo gear and pennants scattered about, most things seemed to have personal significance to Natalia.
“Doctor Heron, does anyone else know about Sarah’s job?”
“Talia, please. Not that I know of.”
“No one had seen her dancing, perhaps, and mentioned it to you?”
Again she shook her head. “It is possible that Doctor Larson knows. He was teaching her creative writing class. He’s big on creative visualization, other creativity exercises and writing what you know. Part of Sarah’s change from sociology to English was a desire to tell the stories of those she’d met on the job.”
“Is she any good?”
Talia nodded. “I think so. The paper she did for me was more than literate, which made it exceptional. I’ve not talked to Doctor Larson, but he had to read samples of her work before he let her into his program, so I assume she passed muster.”
“Her roommate said she’s been spending a lot of time on campus, and that she’d recently broken up with her boyfriend. Do you know if she’s seeing anyone here?”
“I don’t. I know the boyfriend was escorted off campus a couple weeks ago. He’d followed her to the library and was disruptive.”
“I have him on my list to talk to. I’ll add Doctor Larson to that list. Could I get a copy of her schedule?”
She shook her head. “Not without a warrant, I’m afraid. The only reason I can turn over her paper is because you could pull it from the library. We do try to protect our students.”
“I can understand that.” I rose. “Thank you, Talia.”
She stood and offered her hand. I took it. No spark. She had no talent, and that was okay. Her firm grip made up for it.
She held on to my hand. “Might I ask you a question?”
“I guess.”
“What is it like to be there, at Club Flesh, watching people sink…? What?”
I shook my head. “That’s not a game I play. Single mothers? Sure, there are plenty of them among dancers. Name another job where you can clear a grand a night chatting and dancing. Girls with substance abuse problems? Sure, but name me a business where that isn’t the case. And folks sinking? Why is it that people who choose to indulge in carnal pursuits, who admit to being simulated by the sight and touch of beautiful women—unattainable though they may be—are somehow beneath those who don’t? I know, it’s the Puritanical history of this country. It’s Fundamentalism that criminalizes natural urges. That judgment is just a means of social control. It makes people into demons.”
She smiled, squeezed my hand. “Bravo. Your point is well taken, and makes you the perfect man to answer the question I was going to ask.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And that was?”
“How do you keep from going insane in that environment? Do you become so desensitized to sexuality that you don’t notice? I should think you’d be in a constant state of arousal.”
I laughed, let her hand go. “Someone working in a chocolate factory will eventually get sick and tired of chocolate.”
“So you’ve sampled extensively and no longer have a taste for it?”
“No. I observe. I watch the patterns. Others are excited by the packages. I enjoy watching the byplay.” I shrugged. “It’s part of the job. If I get distracted, someone gets hurt. I’ve seen the games being played. I know how they end. A friend once told me, ‘Never fall in love with a stripper because, at some point, they all lie.’ Advice I’ve learned to cherish.”
She smiled. “But, still, it can be a pleasure to work in the chocolate factory, can’t it?”
“Just eye-candy to me, Doc.” I returned her smile. “And playing shepherd so none of our lambs get lost.”




Photo by: Michael Pearo

