Free Ladies and Gentlemen by Adam Ross Page B

each setting supercharged with meaning, the protagonist surviving at ground level, unaware of his part in this larger American tapestry. He envisioned critical and commercial success, appearances on the talk circuit, interviews on NPR. It would be a chance to pay off debts and move back to New York, where he’d grown up, maybe start writing for one of the major magazines or get a job at a topflight university. He could feel the power of the project surge through him, like it had its own destiny.
    He was proud of himself for being so opportunistic. His ex-wife, Ashley, would have been pleased too, having always encouraged him to write things that weren’t just scholarly. Thane was suddenly seized by a vivid memory. He and Ashley were in their car, parked alongside a dozen others on a ferry, everyone facing forward during the dark bay crossing. They were headed from Boston to Long Island during one of Ashley’s breaks from law school, and the two of them were arguing bitterly. He couldn’t even remember now what they’d been fighting about. He’d been yelling so hard thathis neck hurt. Ashley reached back to where the windshield met the corner of the dash—he wasn’t sure at first what she was doing, but realized a second later it was to wind up—and then struck him across the face. The blow was quick, and much harder than he’d expected. He went silent, holding his hand to his cheek. Ashley pressed herself against her door and pulled her legs up, ready to kick him if necessary. She looked terrified and furious, and Thane was on the verge of retaliation until he noticed the couple in the next car over. They’d been watching this whole exchange, both of them wide-eyed, motionless, astonished, waiting to see what would happen next …
    Instead of turning off the interstate, Thane took the next exit and headed for downtown.
    He pulled into Billy’s Ritz, a bar and restaurant that was always crowded on the weekends. When he’d started teaching at the university this past fall, the department had taken him there for dinner. Besides the refurbished hotel down the street, it was the only public place he’d been to in Roanoke. The bar was three-deep with patrons, and after Thane ordered a drink he tried to look like he was waiting for someone. He watched the basketball game that was on TV, nodding at the group of guys in front of him whenever they turned to high-five each other, everyone else also paired off, tripled off, grouped.
    Standing behind them all, Thane quickly drank three whiskeys and finally approached the hostess. “Where’s a good place to hear music?”
    At Corned Beef & Co., a band played on a stage with its back to the front window, the red klieg lights shining down from thesecond-level balcony and casting the room aglow. The club was packed wall-to-wall with kids from Hampden-Sydney, Washington and Lee, Roanoke College, and with plenty of Thane’s own students from Hollins. He felt out of place, absurdly old, but he ignored it, pushing forward to the bar and yelling for a beer. The music was terrible, unforgivingly loud. Then someone tapped his shoulder.
    “Professor?”
    It was Ramelle Foster, one of his seniors, a beautiful girl from South Carolina. She had the same eyes as Ashley, green and wide set, and a number of times during his seminar he’d caught her staring at him. He’d warned himself to be careful around her.
    “You’re
here
,” she yelled over the music. She elbowed the girl next to her, nodding her head toward Thane.
    “Indeed I am,” he confirmed.
    She indicated the band. “What do you think?”
    “They’re good.”
    “My cousin’s the drummer.”
    Whenever Ramelle leaned toward him to talk, she squeezed his wrist lightly. There was a sweet, citrus smell on her breath. Thane had to put his ear close to her mouth to hear her over the music, and he could feel her words on his face.
    “I’ve never seen you out before,” she said.
    “That’s because I lead the life of a