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Amy was a cheerleader freshman year, but unlike some of our other cheerleaders, she was also exceptionally smart and thoughtful. Her grades were almost as good as mine, and she always treated me with kindness. We were on student council together, and I remember how stu
I was awakened from this by a slight pressure on my foot below the table. It was gone as soon as it came. Nigel and De
“Eyes Wide Shut was a piece of crap,” De
“Yes, yes, you keep saying that,” Nigel replied. “But why?”
Again, I felt the pressure on my foot, almost teasing in the way it came and went. It traced itself back and forth along my leg. I looked over at John and Daphne, who were still whispering intensely. Maybe it was the alcohol, but it seemed like either Daphne Goodwin was playing footsy with me, or Nigel had a cat.
“The acting, Nigel. Think about how terrible the acting was!”
Nigel threw up his hands.
“The acting was supposed to be terrible,” he cried.
“What! What! Are you all hearing this? Supposed to be terrible?”
I was begi
“Think about it,” Nigel explained patiently. “People came to see Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman play a married couple because they wanted to see what the real Tom and Nicole’s marriage was like. But instead of something fake-the movie-revealing something real-the marriage-they got fake leading them to faker-a movie that was less real than most movies! It was a joke, a parody of the audience’s desires. Kubrick was mocking us.”
Daphne suddenly smiled at me, and the pressure on my thigh disappeared. She turned back to John and resumed her whispering.
“Mocking the audience?” De
The table was quiet. Nigel sat back in his chair, his eyes half-shut, a sleepy, satisfied look on his face. De
“I’d like to thank you all for coming,” Nigel said softly, leaning forward in his chair. “I think we have a special group here, and I’m enjoying getting to know each of you.” He paused and met eyes with us, one at a time. “I think we are going to have a wonderful three years together.
“I’d like to propose that we do this again, and soon. Perhaps a meal out next time, no?” He smiled, and seemed to savor what he said next. “In fact, I have a surprise. A friend of my father’s has invested in a new restaurant in town. When the review comes out this week, you won’t be able to get a table for six months. And, through no small amount of name-dropping and arm-twisting, I’ve arranged to close down the back room just for us, a private di
My first thought was holy shit, this is go
“Sure,” De
“Excellent,” Nigel said. “Daphne?”
“Oh, Nigel, I’d love to. It sounds wonderful. But… I can’t that night.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Nigel said. “What about you, John?”
“I’d like to, Nigel. I really would. But, I don’t guess they could still change it to another night, could they?”
“I’m afraid not,” Nigel said, looking at me again, curiously.
“Jeremy? Surely you’ll join me?”
To my surprise, my voice came out hoarse and barely audible. “I can’t,” was all I managed to say. Nigel wasn’t smiling anymore. There was a strange look in his eyes, and suddenly it dawned on me: Nigel had no intention of hosting a di
John was staring down at his hands. Daphne was watching me, her lips barely suggesting a smile.
Four people. Three spots.
The game had begun, and I hadn’t even realized it. At least now we knew who the players were.
6
How was I supposed to keep my mind on school? Friday night was coming up! What would it bring? What would they want?
And Bernini! He was heaping more and more assignments on me. I was spending entire nights in the library, ru
Soon, Bernini would write his magnum opus: a colossal work, modestly titled The History of Law. My job was to summarize thousands of pages of text, obscure works that existed only in the dustiest corners of Edwards: first editions; treatises with margin notes by famous readers; memoirs so frail they were housed in argon and handled by permission of the dean only.
I’d be halfway through one assignment when my phone would buzz and that familiar Italian accent would sing, “Jeremy, do you have a minute?”
The answer was always yes.
Wednesday night I was delivering papers to Bernini’s office when he glanced up from his desk.
“Jeremy.”
“Yes, professor?”
“Take this.”
He placed something in my hand. It was a small key.
“I’m going to begin writing soon. I won’t want to be disturbed. Let yourself in when the lights are off to deliver your research. You understand?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
I backed out of the office.
My law school training was already kicking in: I immediately starting thinking of worst-case scenarios. He trusted me with a key to his office. What if I lost the key? What if I had to bother him to replace the thing he’d given me so I wouldn’t bother him? I decided to go directly to a locksmith in the morning to copy the key and put it somewhere safe.
A day later, the duplicate key was hidden on my bookshelf in the middle pages of Crime and Punishment. How could I possibly have known, at that point in time, that this would one day save someone’s life?