Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death

him?”
    “That you were worried about getting tenure.”
    “Did he believe you?”
    “No.”
    “Shit. Now I’ve made you lie to your dad.”
    “It wasn’t exactly a lie.” I turned my head on the pillow to look at him. “You could tell him.”
    He was quiet for a minute. “I couldn’t stand pity. Especially from your dad.”
    “He’s a Marine. Pity isn’t in his skill set.”
    Pete huffed a soft laugh, but didn’t say anything.
    “Are you sorry you told me?”
    It took him a second to answer. “No, I’m not sorry. But I didn’t consider the ramifications. I thought we could just go back to the way we were, and you’d be satisfied.”
    “You didn’t have a reason to think otherwise. I’d never said anything.”
    “You were going to, though, weren’t you?”
    “Yeah, I was getting there.” I sighed. “I don’t like being the fuckee all the time. It makes me feel…” I searched for the right word. “Subordinate.”
    That got Pete to look at me. “I do not think of you as subordinate. In any way. We are equals .”
    I didn’t say anything.
    Pete turned his face back to the ceiling. There was despair in his voice. “What are we gonna do?”
    An idea popped into my head. I reached over and took his hand. “What about this? Why don’t we take a break from anal for a while? Just for a while. We can practice our other skills. Maybe that’ll help us get back in a good space.”
    He thought about that for a minute. “ Okay. I’m willing to try that.”
    “Okay. Good.” I squeezed his hand. “But not tonight, huh?”
    “No. Not tonight.”
    “Cool.” I raised up on my elbow and kissed him. “G’night. I love you.”
    “Good night. I love you too.”
    Neither one of us said anything else, but neither one of us went to sleep for some time.

    We spent a couple more days at my dad’s. Pete didn’t tell him what was going on, and I didn’t say anything else about it. When we got home, we spent an entire day painting the living room, then got caught up in New Year’s celebrations with friends. We recovered from the New Year’s Eve revelry with a Clean My Hoard marathon on January 1, then went back to work the next day. I didn’t hear anything from the police, and the phone that Eckhoff had given me didn’t ring.
    And we never got a chance to talk to Jennifer.

January
    The assistant curator of the Book of Kells exhibit from Trinity College Dublin had arranged to come to LA the week after New Year’s. Conrad asked me to pick her up from the airport, so I made a sign that said “Trinity College” and stood at baggage claim with the other chauffeurs.
    The assistant curator was probably close to my age, medium height, dark hair, pleasantly plump. She was dressed in a long skirt and a chunky cable knit sweater that was too warm for Southern California, and she looked a little disheveled. But her smile was genuine and her handshake was firm. "Good afternoon, Dr. Brodie. I'm Gillian Murray." And her Irish accent was delightful.
    "Welcome to California. How was your flight?"
    She sighed. "Long."
    We chatted on the way back to campus about the Book of Kells, Trinity College, Oxford, Ireland, Scotland…she was easy to talk to. When we got to campus, I parked and walked with her to the library.
    "Are you hungry? Would you like a cup of coffee?"
    "Ah, I've had enough coffee to float the Armada. Is there any tea to be had?"
    I guided her into Cafe 451 and bought her a cup of tea and a croissant. We sat at one of the tables near the door. She watched the students coming and going with a raised eyebrow. "They don't wear many clothes here, do they?"
    I laughed. "No. It makes it easier for them to get a little beach time in between classes."
    "Right." She gave me a skeptical grin, then took a sip of tea and sighed with pleasure. "Mmm. Not bad." She spread jam on her croissant and said, "Now. Tell me how you came by this manuscript page."
    I told her about the TV show and everything that had happened since. She listened closely. When I had finished, she shook her head. "Sounds like one of your movies, hmm?"
    "It does. But this one's true. It's LA. Weird stuff happens here."
    "Are you a native?"
    "California, yes. LA, no. I'm from San Diego. A much more normal place."
    She smiled. We chatted a bit more as she drank her tea. She was from Killarney, originally, but had moved to Dublin for college and had never left. She was 34 and had a boyfriend with the Garda. We talked about having cops as