Free Near Death by Glenn Cooper Page B

flag.
    Larry Gelb, a cherubic philosophy professor from Brandeis, arrived with his much younger Korean girlfriend, a former student of his, and tossed his Che-style beret onto one of the cushions. Arthur Spangler, a curly-haired biochemist from Tufts Medical School with nineteenth-century mutton-chop sideburns, headed straight for the hummus and began making the rounds, curious if anyone had any spliffs. The room filled with old friends and academic colleagues from the elite colleges and universities in Boston, warmed by one another’s company and Alex’s patented bear hugs, which he meted out in a distracted way.
    Spangler sidled up to Alex and asked through a mouthful of chips and dip, “Any recreational pharmaceuticals tonight, Weller?”
    “Unless someone surprises us, afraid not, Art. Going to have to make do with fermentation products. Jessie’s got plenty of that in the kitchen.”
    “Pity. Who’s going to be speaking?”
    “Larry’s got an interesting paper on something or another.”
    “Seems disorganized, Weller. Need to put our dues to better purpose.”
    “What dues are those?” Alex asked.
    “Point taken.” Spangler trundled off, continuing his quest for marijuana.
    Erica Parris, a grad student at the Harvard Divinity School, unwrapped her scarf and made a beeline for Alex, literally tugging a young man by the sleeve. She was ruddy-cheeked from the long walk along the Charles and exuded her usual earthy sexuality. Alex once told Gelb that Erica reminded him of an archetypal fertility talisman. Brimming with enthusiasm, she chimed, “Alex, I brought a newbie! Meet Sam Rodriguez.”
    Her charge was a lean, muscular Puerto Rican youth with protodreadlocks, the harbinger of some future grander tonsorial concoction. His features were stunningly chiseled and handsome, although he appeared dazed by unfamiliar surroundings.
    “Hello, Sam, welcome to my house. I’m Alex Weller.” Alex wasn’t in any mood to meet new talent but Sam made sharp confident eye contact, which made an instant positive impression.
    “I’m Sam. My friends call me S-Rod.”
    Alex clapped him on the shoulder. “If we become friends, I hope you’ll allow me to call you Sam. You seem like a Sam to me, not an S-Rod.”
    “Okay, man. We’ll see.”
    “Have you known Sam long, Erica?”
    “About forty-five minutes. We met on the steps of Widener Library when I was heading here.”
    “Well then, help yourself to wine or beer in the other room and we’ll have a toast to new relationships,” he said politely. “I assume Erica has told you about our salon.”
    “Sort of. Sounds wild.”
    “What attracted you?”
    He pointed to the woman’s thigh-high boots. “Her legs, man. I gotta be honest with you, that’s the main reason.”
    She playfully swatted him.
    “I like your honesty, Sam.” Alex snorted. “You’re at Harvard?”
    Sam nodded. “A junior.”
    “What are you studying?”
    “Computational sciences.”
    “Well, let’s see if you connect to the kinds of subjects that interest us, Sam. If so, maybe we’ll see you back. If not, at least we shared a moment of commonality on the subject of Erica’s legs.”
    When all the cushions were filled and the circle formed, Alex took his place next to Jessie on a flat red pillow. For atmospherics, there was low light, a Govindaalbum—raga-style, electronic, hypnotic, playing softly in the background—and a smoky haze from burning sticks of sandalwood incense.
    “Welcome one, welcome all,” Alex began. He wasn’t feeling his usual expansive self but the show had to go on. “We have a new friend with us, Sam Rodriguez from Harvard, who has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. Say hello, Sam.”
    A salty wave. “Hey,” and others waved back.
    “For Sam’s benefit, welcome to the Uroboros Society, named for the mythical serpent—”
    “Who eats his own tail, right?” Sam interrupted. “An ancient symbol of infinity.”
    “I swear I didn’t prep him!”