"No black-tie dinner parties," Blair continued, "no inflation, no college upper crust snobs, no disgusting men…" Her voice cut off. She hadn't meant to say that exactly that way. She hadn't meant to say 'disgusting men' like that. It slipped out. But it did slip out.

Perhaps she had meant it in some strange way. Some way she couldn't quite fathom. "I'm off," Cathy said, hopping up and scurrying toward the door. "See you later… savage!"

She laughed as she went running down the steps. Blair heard her laughter all the way down the stairs. What the hell was she laughing at?

The dinner-party was every bit the atrocity that Blair suspected it would be. The food was tasty enough, but the company sucked.

Professor Divers was regally seated at the head of the assembled guests. The little party was his way of bidding a fond adieu to his department's most prized professor and most fierce competitor. None of his books had ever been published for popular markets. He wrote long, scholarly studies on the mating habits of flatworms and the nocturnal activities of the two-toed sloth. In other areas, he had even less to offer.

"Blair, dear," he said, grasping her hand with his gnarled hairy one, "you're looking positively radiant this evening."

What a bunch of crap! He was patronizing her and she knew it. How could he say such a thing anyway? She was wearing khaki pants, a khaki blouse and Army boots, for Chrissake.

"What are you going to do with all that lovely hair?" Mrs. Divers said, nodding her head in Blair's direction, "I expect you'll have to cut it off."

"Well, the jungles are steamy," Blair said, stirring a little milk into her cappucino, "but I've decided to risk not going bald for the occasion. I'm thinking of wearing it in braids or something."

Actually she hadn't given it much thought.