This Enemy Town by Marcia Talley Page B

market when Eric and I were on our honeymoon in Atlanta. But that’s another story.”
    Eric was Ruth’s ex. And the story wasn’t pretty. They’d been married for nine years when Eric began easing the pain of advancing middle age by taking up with a succession of bimbos-du-jour. Until recently, he’d maintained a half interest in Mother Earth, but last summer, with Hutch’s help, Ruth had bought the jerk out.
    Ruth’s knight in shining armor took her hand, tucked it under his arm, and leaned forward over the quiz sheet, reading aloud flawlessly, although the page was upside down. “What ‘founding mother’ was the first real woman to appear as a Pez dispenser head?”
    We guessed Martha Washington on that one, but we were wrong. It was Betsy Ross.
    After all the forms were collected and the scores tallied, we narrowly lost the game to the Axis of Evil team, playing from the cozy comfort of the bay window in the adjoining bar.
    Looking a trifle crestfallen, Paul excused himself to go to the restroom, while Hutch wandered off in the direction of the bar, carrying his empty mug. I seized the moment to tell Ruth about Jennifer Goodall.
    â€œShit.”
    â€œMy sentiments exactly. And why the hell is she hanging around Mahan Hall? She doesn’t have anything to do with the musical.”
    Ruth looked surprised. “You sure?”
    â€œPositive. I’ve been working on it for over two weeks. If she were doing sets or costumes or makeup, I’d have noticed by now.”
    Ruth frowned. “That girl you said she was talking to, Emma? Perhaps she’s in Goodall’s company.”
    I shook my head. “No, she’s not.” I turned my glass by the stem until a fresh layer of salt was facing me. I raised the glass to my lips.
    â€œI think I know,” said Paul.
    I nearly dropped my glass. Until he spoke, I didn’t realize he’d been standing right behind me.
    â€œI just ran into Jim Harle in the men’s room.” He smiled down at me. “You remember Jim. Computer services?”
    I nodded.
    â€œWell, Jim told me that Goodall’s the academy’s SAVI officer.”
    â€œSavvy?” Ruth and I said it at the same time.
    â€œS-A-V-I.” Paul spelled it out. “It stands for sexual assault victim intervention. One of her duties would be to provide the victims of sexual assault with an advocate.”
    â€œSexual assault …” I could barely go on. “You have got to be kidding!”
    â€œIronic, huh?”
    Ruth stuck in her oar. “The I-word I’m thinking of is ‘insane.’”
    â€œKnowing her,” I grumbled, “I bet she probably requested the assignment.”
    Paul settled back into his chair, but whatever he’d been intending to say was interrupted by the arrival of our order—fish and chips for Ruth and me, Irish stew for Paul, and, I couldn’t help laughing, shepherd’s pie (without any actual shepherd) for Hutch, whenever he returned from the bar, that is.
    As I munched my way through the succulent fish, I thought about the concerns Emma had shared with me about Kevin. I’d seen her talking in an animated way toJennifer Goodall; then I’d seen Jennifer talking to Kevin. If Goodall was the SAVI officer, was it possible that Emma had been reporting Kevin as a harasser? Kevin was showering Emma with attention, it was true, mooning over her, but that didn’t necessarily count as harassment. But then, who knew what went on between them when they got back to Bancroft Hall?
    All the same, I thought I might mention it to Dorothy. If Kevin had his sights set on flying FA18s for the Marines, a charge of sexual harassment would quash any dream he had of becoming a flying cowboy pretty damn quick. In this PC environment, he’d leave the Academy with a rocket tied to his tail.
    Dorothy had lost faith in her husband. If Kevin were kicked out of the Academy,