Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Jeffrey Round
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to ferret out his interests and potential skill sets shotgun style. He excelled in psychology and sociology but found the disciplines too wide-ranging to hold his attention for long. If he’d been asked what interested him most, he would have narrowed it down to the well-being of other people, but that hardly sounded like a career.
In his second year, he chose a path with the impressive sounding label of Social-Cultural Anthropology, and then got sidetracked briefly by paleontology, thinking he might find himself tracking skeletons in the deserts of Africa. But the dream was more glamorous than the reality — the bone business was already overrun with various social misfits and wannabes who ended up running safari operations for tourists. In the meantime, university failed to stimulate him. He found the academic world labyrinthine, astounded to learn his fellow students might spend years pursuing such abstruse matters as the history of various disciplines without ever tackling the actual subjects.
Ultimately, he didn’t take well to studying — possibly because Bob was no longer around to impress or because he’d just lost his home a second time. The centre of his universe hadn’t held once again, and it showed. His course advisor summed it up when she told him he had a piercing but restless mind, striking a similar chord to what Bob had said. His papers showed brilliance, but he folded on the exams. She hoped he’d do better.
He might have, but something sidetracked him first. Whatever else those two years had given Dan, they’d brought the realization that university wasn’t for him. They’d also given him Kedrick.
Five
Kedrick
Whitney Hall, Dan’s residence in second year, housed an interesting collection of humanity. He made friends with the staff, who quickly sensed his orphan status. One in particular, a talkative night porter, painted from midnight to dawn then packed up his artist’s gear and went home. But from ten p.m. to midnight, the artist held court. He’d established a cult appeal among the student body, having known celebrities and worked briefly as a bodyguard for an English movie star.
Among his coterie was a young Syrian named Arman, who had a habit of wearing as little as possible around the residence. In deep winter, Arman stalked the halls like a restless lion, dressed in sleeveless T-shirts and loose-fitting sweatpants. The porter’s room was small, and Dan often found himself crowded in next to this silky-skinned Arab. One evening, bored or tired, Arman leaned his head on Dan’s shoulder. Dan flinched.
Arman turned a cool gaze on him. “Afraid of being touched?” he asked, with his superior-sounding English accent and comically raised eyebrows.
“N-no,” Dan stammered and felt his face flush.
“G-good,” said Arman, and laid his arm across the back of Dan’s neck.
Dan sat, paralyzed with self-consciousness, as the group dissected European political views in light of the Gulf War. Now and again someone would look up at the pair, with disappointment or envy, Dan wasn’t sure. After that, Dan attended the talks as much on the chance of seeing Arman’s honey-coloured skin and deep-set eyes as to hear the artist talk. Arman gave spirited debate on any subject under discussion, mesmerizing them with his accent and clear voice, receiving as much attention as the porter.
At midnight, the painter made it clear his studio time had arrived. The group broke up reluctantly, lingering in the hall to protract the discussions, this taste of the larger world. If neither of them had an early class, Arman might return to Dan’s room, where the conversation resumed with Arman sprawled across Dan’s bed in his scanty attire. Dan secretly hoped something would throw them together, but if Arman harboured any desire for his new friend, he never showed it. He seemed content being admired from the far side of the room. For Dan, to have Arman’s exclusive company nightly had been enough at first.
On weekends the residence emptied, the students going home or out of town. Dan stayed behind, having no place to visit and no invitations to take up. One Saturday, Arman arrived at his door with a slighter version of himself. He introduced his sister, Kendra, who was studying fashion at another institution. They were off to Chinatown for a bit of shopping and invited him to join. Dan hadn’t known Arman had a sister, let alone family in Toronto. He got the feeling she was a black sheep of sorts, which Arman later confirmed with various off-hand remarks letting Dan know he was ashamed of Kendra’s whole-hearted embrace of North American life.
Like her brother, Kendra was keen-spirited and attractive. She made a habit of teasing Arman and quickly transferred that to Dan. That same day, over coffee, Dan asked her out, perhaps hoping to impress Arman or maybe to make him jealous — he wasn’t sure.
They began to date. Dan didn’t fall in love with her and he was sure she wasn’t in love with him, but he was drawn to something behind the velvety eyes that looked purple in the right light. The first time they kissed — on the subway steps outside the Royal Ontario Museum — he imagined for a moment it was Arman he held in his arms and wondered if that was why he was attracted to her. Perhaps that was when he made up his mind to find out. If he couldn’t have Arman directly, maybe he could have him through Kendra.
One evening, after too many pints at a local pub, he brought Kendra to his bedroom and, with her guidance, experienced the first and only heterosexual event of his adult life. Then she disappeared.
Arman was vague when Dan inquired: his sister was busy, she’d been out of town, and no, he hadn’t seen her. As far as Dan could tell, Arman had no idea what had occurred between them. He continued to join Dan for their nightly “UN Conferences,” as they jokingly referred to them. Dan wasn’t sure how Arman would react if he knew how far his relations with Kendra had gone. When it came to family matters, Arman was surprisingly conservative. While he tolerated Dan’s interest in Kendra, he made light of it — the question of a future for them would never be in the picture.
After another week, Dan began to wonder if he’d done something to offend her. Finally she called. She was fine but couldn’t see him, claiming an agonizing schedule. He pressured her, bewildered by her avoidance. Since their lovemaking, he’d spent the past few weeks imagining a future for them — marriage, a home. It never assumed a definite shape. He was even beginning to convince himself he was in love with her.
When she called next, a month had passed. Kendra was all seriousness — she was pretty sure she was pregnant. Dan panicked. There was a flutter in his voice. How sure? Very — a girl didn’t say these things lightly.
Dan froze. He wondered if she were making a pitch for marriage, trying to snag him or at the very least a quick citizenship. He didn’t voice these thoughts. After all, he’d been considering marriage himself. She reluctantly agreed to meet for coffee the following day.
It was a gloomy afternoon, sleet pelting the campus. Kendra stirred her mint tea, looking out the window from time to time. Yes, she’d had the results. Yes, she was definitely pregnant. Dan saw his future going up like the little wisps of steam rising from the greenish tea and vanishing between them.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
A look of concern passed over her face. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “I can’t believe I’ve screwed up like this. I’ve always been so careful.”
She felt conflicted, regretting the situation she’d dragged him into and stricken with guilt over her neglect. Her bravado, the North American hubris she draped herself in, had fled.
Dan wanted to know what she was going to do. She shrugged. There was no question of telling her parents. They would cut her off financially — and who knew what else. “At least they don’t do honour killings any more,” she said darkly.
Dan grimaced. He didn’t know what honour killings were, but he could guess. Had she told Arman? She looked aghast. No! Arman would be furious — he might even tell her family. Didn’t Dan know her brother well enough by now? Anyway, she’d already decided to have an abortion.
Dan’s stomach spasmed. It sounded worse than the spectre of marriage. He haltingly suggested an arrangement between them, wondering yet again if she were trying to snag a citizenship.
She