Gabrella Brevard, Medical Anthropologist

Back in his office, Trent called Professor Gabrella Brevard at Witherspoon University and opened with, “Hi, Gabbie I’ve got a new project and I need your help. It’s in an area that has important medical implications and I’m really eager to get going. Besides, I think you might enjoy this project. I’d like to talk with you about it as soon as possible.”

“Hi, to you too sweetie,” she responded, I’d love to talk about your project and to see you again. It’s been too long. Maybe our favorite suite is available in that small hotel in Philadelphia that we love so well. Unless you hear otherwise from me, I’ll see you there tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabrella was waiting in the lobby when Trent arrived at the hotel. She was seated to the left of the automatic doors out of sight of anyone entering. When she saw Trent, she moved toward him briskly, and in an act resembling an ambush grasped him in an embrace and kissed him enthusiastically.

Trent’s first reaction was one of surprise—surprise at the unexpected contact, much as would be experienced from any sudden violation of one’s private space. His next reaction was one of resistance, born of a reluctance to endanger something that had become dear to him. Finally his reaction was one of enjoyment as the lingering kiss spread its warmth over him.

When he registered with the desk clerk and asked for suite number one hundred seventy the clerk said with a smile, “I see you’ll be needing two keys.”

From suite one hundred seventy, Trent dialed room service and ordered dinner. He also asked for a table that could serve as a work surface and requested two comfortable office chairs. Hearing his conversation with room service, Gabrella said, “I’ll get my things settled” and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Waiting for the food to arrive, Trent reviewed his notes on the proposed plan to survey of T. gondii strains on a worldwide basis.

When the bellhop left the suite, Gabrella emerged from the bedroom, and struck a pose in the doorway with one hand on the door jamb and the other on her hip. Trent saw at once that she was wearing the floor-length, chocolate-brown, split-up-the sides negligee that he had bought for her in Paris—because, as she said, it went so well with her red hair.

“Hi, Trent, baby,” she said as she took a step toward him. She stopped, assuming a coquettish pose. She touched her lips sensuously with her fingertips, fluttered her eyelashes and with an elegant sweep of her right hand to her left shoulder, she loosed the single strap of her negligee. The gown began to slide—almost in slow motion, it seemed to Trent—forming ripples in the supple material as it moved down her body, over her breasts, and then, gathering speed, over her hips and finally onto the floor around her ankles. She stepped out of the circle of fabric, moved to Trent, pulled the parasite papers from his hands and threw them on the floor purring, “Before work comes play.”

Trent responded lamely, “The food is here and it’ll get cold.”

“Never mind the food,” she said as she ran her fingers through his hair, “It may get cold, but I’ll keep you nice and warm.”