the hell he was.
The blonde gave him a slow, sweet smile. The smile promised a good deal more than Forrester thought likely of fulfillment.
He smiled back.
It would have been impolite, he assured himself, not to have done so.
The girl left the room, and a remaining crowd of students hurried out after her. The crowd included two blinking boys, awakened by the bell from what had certainly been a trance. Forrester made a mental note to inquire after their records and to speak with the boys himself when he got the chance.
No sense in disturbing a whole class to discipline them.
He stacked his papers carefully, taking a good long time about it in order to relax himself and let his palms dry. His mind drifted back to the blonde, and he reined it in with an effort and let it go exploring again on safer ground. The class itself…actually, he thought, he rather liked teaching. In spite of the petty irritations that came from driving necessary knowledge into the heads of stubbornly unwilling students, it was a satisfying and important job. And, of course, it was an honor to hold the position he did. Ever since it had been revealed that the goddess Columbia was another manifestation of Pallas Athena herself, the University had grown tremendously in stature.
And after all…
Whistling faintly behind his teeth, Forrester zipped up his filled briefcase and went out into the hall. He ignored the masses of students swirling back and forth in the corridors, and, finding a stairway, went up to his second-floor office.
He fumbled for his key, found it, and opened the ground-glass door.
Then, stepping in, he came to a full stop.
The girl had been waiting for him—Maya Wilson.
* * * *
And now here she was, talking about the Goddess of Love. Forrester gulped.
“Anyhow,” he said at random, “I’m an Athenan.” He remembered that he had already said that. Did it matter? “But what does all this have to do with your passing, or not passing, the course?” he went on.
“Oh,” Maya said. “Well, I prayed to Aphrodite for help in passing the course. And the Temple Priestess told me I’d have to make a sacrifice to the Goddess. In a way.”
“A sacrifice?” Forrester gulped. “You mean—”
“Not the First Sacrifice,” she laughed. “That was done with solemn ceremonies when I was seventeen.”
“Now, wait a minute—”
“Please,” Maya said. “Won’t you listen to me?”
Forrester looked at her limpid blue eyes and her lovely face. “Sure. Sorry.”
“Well, then, it’s like this. If a person loves a subject, it’s that much easier to understand it. And the Goddess has promised me that if I love the instructor, I’ll love the subject. It’s like sympathetic magic—see?”
Her explanation was so brisk and simple that Forrester recoiled. “Hold on,” he said. “Just hold your horses. Do you mean you’re in love with me?”
Maya smiled. “I think so,” she said, and very suddenly she was on Forrester’s side of the desk, pressing up against him. Her hand caressed the back of his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair. “Kiss me and let’s find out.”
CHAPTER THREE
Resistance, such as it was, crumbled in a hurry. Forrester complied with fervor. An endless time went by, punctuated only by short breaths between the kisses. Forrester’s hands began to rove.
So did Maya’s.
She began to unbutton his shirt.
Not to be outdone, his own fingers got busy with buttons, zippers, hooks and the other temporary fastenings with which female clothing is encumbered. He was swimming in a red sea of passion and the Egyptians were nowhere in sight. Absently, he got an arm out of his shirt, and at the same time somehow managed to undo the final button of a series. Maya’s blouse fell free.
Forrester felt like stout Cortez.
He pulled the girl to him, feeling the surprisingly cool touch of her flesh against his. Under the blouse and skirt, he was discovering, she wore very little, and that was just as well; nagging thoughts about the doubtful privacy of his office were beginning to assail him.
Nevertheless, he persevered. Maya was as eager as he had ever dreamed of being, and their embrace reached a height of passion and began to climb and climb to hitherto unknown peaks of sensation.
Forrester was busy for some time discovering things he had never known, and a lot of things he had known before, but never so well. Every motion was met with a reaction that was more than equal and opposite, every sensation unlocked the doors to whole galleries of new sensations. Higher and higher went his emotional thermometer, higher and higher and higher and higher and…
Very suddenly, he discovered how to breathe again, and it was over.
“My goodness,” Maya said after a brief resting spell. “I suppose I must love you for sure. My goodness!”
“Sure,” Forrester said. “And now—if you’ll pardon the indelicacy and hand me my pants—” he found he was still puffing a little and paused until he could go on—” I’ve got an appointment I simply can’t afford to miss.”
“Oh, all right,” Maya said. “But Mr. Forrester—”
He rolled over and looked at her while he began dressing. “I suppose it would be all right if you called me Bill,” he said carefully.
“In class, too?”
Forrester shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not in class.”
“But what I wanted to ask—”
“Yes?” Forrester said.
“Mr.—Bill—do you think I’ll pass Introductory World History?”
Forrester considered that question. There was certainly a wide variety of answers he could construct. When he had finished buttoning his shirt he had decided on one.
“I don’t see why not,” he said, “so long as you complete your assignments regularly.”
* * * *
Nearly two hours later, feeling somewhat light-headed but otherwise in perfectly magnificent fettle, Forrester found himself on the downtown subway. He’d showered and changed and he was whistling a gay little tune as he checked his watch.
The time was five minutes to five. He had just over an hour before he was due to appear at the Tower of Zeus All-Father, but it was better to be a few minutes early than even a single second late.
The train ride was a little bumpy, but Forrester didn’t really mind. He was pretty well past being irritated by anything. Nevertheless, he was speculating with just a faint unease as to what the Pontifex Maximus wanted with him. What was in store for him at the strange appointment?
And why all the secrecy?
His brooding was interrupted right away. At 100th Street, a bearded old man got on and sat down next to him. He nudged Forrester in the ribs and muttered: “Look at that now, Daddy-O. Look at that.”
“What?” Forrester said, constrained into conversation.
“Damn subways, that’s what,” the old man said. “Worse every year. Bumpier and slower and worse. Just look around, Daddy-O. Look around.”
“I wouldn’t quite say—” Forrester began, but the old man gave him another dig in the ribs and cut in:
“Wouldn’t say, wouldn’t say,” he muttered. “Listen, man, there ain’t been an improvement in years. You realize that?”
“Well, I—”