With her mind made up, Starling jotted the name as it came to her on her napkin. Lector, Leckter, Lecktor, Lekter, or Lecter? Was there a 't' or was it Lecker? Leccer? She couldn't make up her mind, but she was fairly certain there was a 't'. Either that, or some presumptuous letter was masquerading as a 't,' admirably, too. Oh well. It shouldn't be too difficult a mystery to solve. The phone book would tell her what she needed to know, unless he was unlisted, of course. That thought was at first horrible, then amusing. What sort of psychiatrist would be unlisted?
Well, with her luck…
Starling vowed to first finish her lunch, though all the while her eyes traced the letters of the clumsily jotted name on fragile paper. A waiter came around, offering various tables additional breadsticks. She politely declined, suddenly fixated on mapping out the location of the nearest phone book and wanting no delays. An incursion of incomplete duties she was allegedly to have finished by the end of the day accusingly attacked, berating her for such blatant neglect, but the sensation was brief. Should the doctor's offer still stand—she couldn't imagine why it wouldn't; it was only made last night—there would be no work or school or ridiculous assignments for the next six months. Half a year. She was looking at being recycled, but as Krendler had established, that was already inevitable.
They had sharpened the stick at both ends, and there was only one way out.
The more she thought about it, the more appealing the proposal sounded. Six months away from cases she couldn't solve, looks she couldn't stomach, rumors she couldn't deduce, and most importantly, from the Crawfords and the Krendlers that pushed her into reluctant positions and scolded her if she couldn't get out. Merely thinking about it tempted her to leap up and time warp on the restaurant table, but she restrained herself.
Let's not jump the gun here, Starling. You haven't asked, and he hasn't accepted.
But he would. He had to.
And if he doesn't?
Well, she could use six months off regardless, but it would be nice to have an excuse.
Discarding the contents of her tray into the trash dispenser, Starling hurried out of the restaurant. Once situated in her car, she paused, considered, and decided it was best to turn to a public pay phone. Though she didn't foresee actually calling the doctor, she wanted to elude the possibility of being star-six-nined and obligated to answer. She chose the public library instead, where she would be assured a peaceful atmosphere and privacy.
In a nook, she found a pay phone complete with a directory listing. Starling flipped open to the "L's," discarding the napkin stuffed in her purse. Hannibal was not such a tough title to remember, and her mind had already sorted through the various spellings that might construct his last name.
Lawson, Steve and StaceyLayler, John and Kimberly.
Lebanon, David and Angela Lecter, Hannibal.
A grin tickled her lips as she finally reached for the napkin, fluently jotting down the number and address. "Bingo," she muttered.
* * *
Dr. Lecter very much liked to cook, especially for company. Experimenting with a variety of recipes was his specialty, and the outcome was always delicious. Though he was not customarily an early riser, he made exceptions when entertaining. It was in his hospitable nature to offer room and board to visiting friends or colleagues—even if he couldn't stand them; it was good for business—and further to make their stay as comfortable as possible.
In this instance, he was thankful for his company. Barney was an old chum and they got along like clockwork. He was casual enough to not stand out—aside his monstrous height—and didn't bare the look of an intellectual. However, a connoisseur of reading eyes, Dr. Lecter knew that anyone who gave his friend a second look would see aptitude. It was society's downfall that today hardly anyone ever paused for that subsequent and most-telling glance.
The menu this morning consisted of a montage of Lecter's favorites, though he did pause once to take requests. Barney was never a modest eater and happily chowed through three servings.
"Doctor," he said between bites, "this is fantastic."
"Thank you, Barney."
"Do you have any afternoon sessions?"
The breakfast ritual was one of those instances where the topic at hand could switch at random, never capturing the attention of the conversationalists. Being one to normally eat light for rising so late, Dr. Lecter reflected this with some amusement. "Three, rather late in the afternoon." He paused, considering. "I believe I will hand lunch preparation over to Mrs. Pearce. She is an admirable cook and enjoys showing off for guests."
"Mrs. Pearce?"
"My housekeeper. She will be arriving shortly."
Barney nodded with a significant arch of his brows, reaching for his orange juice. "She nice?"
"Yes, though I don't associate with her much. She works from eleven to nine, when I'm typically not here. She has prepared supper a time or two, though I rather selfishly prefer to do it myself. I am moderately high maintenance, you see, and I don't approve of bothering others to fit my impossible tastes," Dr. Lecter said, taking a minute to reflect his words and grin. "I suppose that sounds snobbish."
"Somewhat," Barney replied, coaxing both an amused and slightly surprised chuckle from his host. Trust this man to be so honestly straightforward. "But not really. You can afford a little arrogance with this stuff, and you don't boast."
Smiling, the doctor warmed his coffee. "I should hope not. People can be entirely too mundane, especially when it comes to self-promotion."
"Is that why you frequent in bars?" he asked, cleaning his plate with a piece of toast. "Seriously, Doc, those places are so unyou, it's funny."
"The company is always amusing, and it's beneficial for field study."
"Insomniac?"
Dr. Lecter grinned lightly and complied a single nod. "On occasion. Perhaps that's why I'm not an early riser."
"Yeah. All the interesting places open at night."
"Not entirely. Whimsical and pathetic, yes, and maybe I have had the good fortune to encounter someone with elaborate and illustrative issues rather than the implied street vendor, but not often. I suppose you can call it a bad habit. A morbid curiosity." The doctor's eyes were transfixed on his coffee as he stirred it in small circles. "Last night was an exception. The first in a while. I met an FBI trainee who is facing prejudices beyond her control simply for doing her job exactly how her superiors have taught her, thus far. I believe she is breaking into a world of corruptibility, perhaps from an overly-sheltered childhood where such lessons were skipped for fear of suggestion. Whatever the case may be, I know there is more to it, and that fascinates me. If I can't see the problem that means there is a problem."
"Now, Doc, you're sounding snobbish again."
At that, Lecter chuckled. "A psychiatrist's routine. If the problem is not legible on a patient's face, then it is worth your while. Whatever happened to her was enough to mold her into someone who is easily flustered and defensive. However, she is polite in manner and represses much of what she endures, leaving it to plea for escape. The abuse she sustains at school must be severe—she had much to vent on unsuspecting tables for the superfluous leer of vulgar young men."
"Did you catch her name?"
"Clarice," Dr. Lecter replied, not pausing in hesitation, not needing to consider. The name was etched in his mind, and even if he never saw her again, it would remain there forever. "Clarice Starling."
"Sterling?"
"No. Like a bird. Starling." Then his eyes distanced, turning to gaze out the window. Something significant stirred, not too noticeably, but something. This only lasted a minute, and he was back. "A temperamental little thing, she was."
"Thank you, Yoda."
Dr. Lecter blinked. "Excuse me?"
Barney yelped a laugh, revealing his baby teeth as his belly shook lightly. "Never mind, never mind."
At precisely eleven am, Mrs. Pearce arrived. She was a plumpy middle-aged woman who had the honest-to-god look of a housekeeper. After giving Barney a healthy handshake, she expressed her counterfeit joy that the doctor was entertaining guests. "It's good for him," she insisted. With a lovely though slightly forced smile to reveal her admirable disposition, she excused herself and began the morning chores.
The order of the manor was very precise, and even the presence of additional company could not stir routine. Exchanging few words with Mrs. Pearce, Dr. Lecter headed upstairs to change, inviting Barney to make himself at home in front of the television.
Two game shows and half the afternoon news later, subtle movement from the upper level hinted at his return. "I intend to visit the hospital today," the doctor announced as he entered the living room, changed now into work attire. "Dr. Reynolds assured me that he had reserved that position for you. If all goes well, you may begin work tomorrow."
"I hope so, Doc," Barney replied, flicking the news off. "I don't want to live off your good graces longer than I have to."
"Don't be silly. You're welcome here as long as you like."
As he was about to reply, the doorbell rang. Dr. Lecter did not react, trusting Mrs. Pearce to deal with it. Being one of considerate wealth, he was accustomed to receiving door-to-door salesmen and religious fanatics that always proclaimed the apocalypse was upon them. Very rarely did he have an authentic unannounced visitor. Most of those that ran in his social circle called before arriving, unless it was an emergency.
Either Barney sensed this or didn't care. He nodded and continued, "I really don't want to put you out. I believe in earning my keep. And truthfully, this place is a little too…"
Dr. Lecter grinned. "Similar to a museum?"
"Exactly. But in the best way, of course."
"Of course."
"Dr. Lecter." It was the housekeeper. He turned to her fluently, attentive.
"Yes, Mrs. Pearce?"
"There's a young woman here to see you, sir."
He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Send her away, Mrs. Pearce. I have no use for Girl Scout cookies. Remind me to make a donation when I return."
"No, young woman. She's maybe twenty-five. Says she knows you."
At that, he frowned. "Did she state her business?"
"She said she met you last night, sir. Downtown."
Barney's eyes widened in recognition. "The bird, Doc? Do you think?"
Though he had not yet allowed his mind to wander in that direction, Dr. Lecter admitted a brief rush of excitement. Ah, so the fiery vixen had returned. "We'll soon find out," he muttered. "Send her in, Mrs. Pearce."
As the housekeeper retreated to show in the unexpected caller, Barney heaved himself off the couch, wide-eyed. "How would she find you here?" he asked. "Did you give her your address?"
"No, but I'm sure she has the mechanics about her to operate a phone book," Dr. Lecter replied. His voice was distant and elusive. It was difficult to decipher his reaction, even for himself. This was not a man easily taken by surprise, and it was obvious that the young woman had done so, even before she entered the room. Such fluttering was not usual, nor wanted. Voices drifted from the entry hall, and he knew by her scent it was her before she crossed threshold.
When Clarice Starling followed Mrs. Pearce into the room, the first thing Dr. Lecter noticed were her slightly flushed cheeks that reflected almost timid determination embedded in her eyes. A woman with a mission, a cause, something significant enough to call on a stranger she met in a pub, one she seemed to hate with passion. How riveting.
The doctor fought off a smirk, wondering how he might toy with her. He knew instantly that whatever had provoked her to visit was worth his attention, and had the uncomfortable suspicion that he would oblige anything she asked of him, even on that short acquaintance. There was something about her.
But that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun …
"Ms. Clarice Starling to see you, sir," Mrs. Pearce announced.
Professionally, Dr. Lecter nodded and crossed his arms, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "Hmm, yes. Thank you, Mrs. Pearce. That will be all." His gaze had not left Starling's, daring her to look away. Over the years, he had been told time and time again from his patients that there was something about his penetrating stare that was both enthralling and unapproachable. Something that persuaded them to share their innermost thoughts, something atrocious and wonderful. As though they expected he would lash out at them at any hint of equivocation. This had always amused him for the components of contradiction, also with the assurance that his patients regarded him with such blinding trust.
Not many could maintain eye contact for long in the early stages of any session without at last being forced to look away. He was pleased when Starling did not. She had her wits about her, even if she was tense.
When he spoke, she didn't jump, though she did react visibly to his voice. "You did say I could call you Clarice, didn't you?" he asked conversely. Greetings were unneeded. They had said everything already without words.
Tone aligned with fortitude; she nodded and replied, "Yes. Dr. Lecter, if memory serves."
"I'm sure it serves admirably. You remembered enough to locate my place of residence." Dr. Lecter stepped back, motioning to his other guest. "Barney Jackson, allow me to introduce Clarice Starling. Frequenter of local night clubs."
She flushed once with anger and her eyes flared, but she held her tongue. Instead, she turned to Barney and nodded courteously. "Hello, Mr. Jackson."
"Barney, please. That 'Mister' stuff makes me edgy."
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Dr. Lecter asked, reveling in the way he managed to snatch her attention with the mere exercise of his vocals. "From our discussion last night, I was under the notion that you were not exactly impressed with me."
"I wasn't. I'm not. I'm here because of something you said."
"Really? Just something? That is rather broad, wouldn't you agree?" When she flushed further, he had to fight a grin. "Pray continue, Officer Starling. It is officer, I gather? You're not quite an agent yet."
"Don't be so presumptuous," she growled, temper seeping into her tone though it was evident that she was struggling with it. "I haven't told you what I came for yet."
"Please continue. I'm at the edge of my seat."
Composing herself, Starling let out a breath and shook her head, as though trying to remember the purpose of her visit. "You seemed to see a lot last night. Saw right through me. My troubles at school and whatnot. You also said you could help."
Dr. Lecter allowed himself a slight rush of glee. "Help? Help with what?" Of course he knew precisely what, and the concept was very appealing. He just wanted to hear it in her thickly accented voice.
"Something about…" She trailed off, seemingly in thought, her mind piecing together what she wanted to say. Obviously, she had rehearsed this little speech on the street, but the mind was a funny thing that decided when it should comply, usually choosing the most inopportune times. Something significant flickered in her eyes. No, she was deciding against it, shaking her head and turning as though to leave. "This is ridiculous," she decided at last. "Why did I come here? I'm sorry for interrupting your day, Doctor."
"At least allow me the opportunity to decline, Clarice. It would be a trifle rude to come and go with no visible motive."
Perhaps it was his words or his voice, or combination of the two, but something set off the trigger, and she was lost to obey it. "School sucks. Work sucks. Everything is…exactly as you said it is. I never saw it before. I don't know why I never saw it before. That Krendler guy I mentioned last night…I'm going to be recycled. They had me on this case I couldn't solve…why I'll never know…but they did. I wasted too much time with it, and I have to start over. I won't be graduating this year."
Dr. Lecter nodded understandingly. "Another chance, then? To start over?"
"Yes…that's what they want me to believe. But…it'll happen all over again. Why should next time be any different? I'm the same, and they're the same. Being recycled won't fix anything. I'll be oldest in my class with just as much if not more discrimination." Starling's temper was rising noticeably at the mere discussion of the imminent future, her fists clinching into tight balls at her sides. With fire, she looked to him, her cause rekindled without any provocation from his voice. "Last night, you said you could have me coached in ways to avoid that. To avoid all that bullshit. I'm here to take you up on that, if the offer still stands."
To hear her voice his statement with such confidence, the blind faith of a man whom had insulted her the night before was refreshing, exciting. What a project! However, he clamped down his reaction. No need to gratify her immediately. "You took a jesting statement from a stranger so seriously?" he asked skeptically. "Things really must be awful. Why, tell me, should I help you?"
Starling's fists constricted even further. "A jest?" Something snapped. "A fucking jest?"
"Certainly," Dr. Lecter replied with an antagonizing grin. "Though perhaps structured with slightly more becoming language. After all, Clarice, it is the twentieth century. What sort of devious creature would make such an odiously self-beneficial offer to a young woman he has never before met?"
"You did, last I checked." She suffered no waft in being referred to as 'strange.'
Dr. Lecter's eyes narrowed further. "Very interesting." He leaned slightly to Barney, though his gaze remained locked with hers. "What do you say, my friend? Do we invite her in or escort her to the front door?"
"Leave me out of this!" Barney quipped. "I want no part!"
But the doctor had obviously asked more for affect than desire of an answer, which he won. If possible, Starling's eyes darkened further, racked with intensity. However, he knew she wasn't so angry with him as she was with herself for the implied foolishness.
She held her ground, though, refusing to flinch, even if her pride was somewhat tattered. "Fine," she said. "Fine. You don't wanna help me? I understand. It must be so much more interesting for you to make surface observations of unsuspecting bar customers. You don't have to bother with in-depth analysis. This would be a challenge."
Hmmm…that was rather slippery of her. Presumptuous and laughable, but slippery nonetheless.
"I have patients, mind you. Patients who pay me a commendable amount to help them sort through various issues. Why should I invest time in you? It will be a costly affair, and I haven't the hours to waste." Dr. Lecter crossed his arms and began to circle her, looking her up and down like a vulture. When he stood behind her, out of her eye sight, he glanced to Barney and winked. "And it will take every bit of six months."
"I'm not so hopeless!" Starling yelped defensively, straining her neck in his direction though not turning. Almost obediently, she waited until he made the full circle.
When he came around again, his eyes flickered with tease, though he knew she couldn't see it. Not yet. She would eventually. "Oh? Then why are you here? Turning to a man you met only once before, in a common hostelry, no less."
In a mocking imitation of his own stature, Starling crossed her arms athwart her chest, eyes slanting in assessment. "Maybe I was wrong," she said thoughtfully, more to herself. "Maybe you're not superior to a baboon in heat."
From behind, Barney keeled over in rich chuckles. She grinned at him in some sort of gratification, but looked back to the doctor almost immediately, though he knew she expected no reaction.
Ever dignified, Dr. Lecter smiled modestly. "Manner, accent, wardrobe, and grammar. I might have underestimated you. A year might do it. Opinions, Barney?"
"I said leave me out of this."
At last, Starling looked down, reflecting some hurt. Her eyes fixed on her shoes (which could honestly use some improvement). "Yes or no will suffice, Doctor. I don't need to be teased." Miraculously, she managed to not sound pitiful, just hurt. The girl at the end of her rope. She clearly had no one else to turn to.
A horrible temptation was upon him suddenly, one that beckoned him to close the space between them and comfort her with a soothing embrace. What was it about her that screamed for both ridicule and tenderness? No one had ever had this affect on him. It was new and unsettling, and he wasn't sure that he liked it. Tightly, he withdrew his handkerchief and handed it to her.
She looked up and accepted it with some hesitance. "What's this for?"
Dr. Lecter frowned. Amongst other things, she was unaccustomed to kindness. That wouldn't do. Still, he forced himself an ambiguous façade, regarding her with as much outward tolerance as he would a sniveling three year old. "To wipe your eyes," he explained shortly. "To wipe any part of your face that feels moist. And remember, that is your handkerchief and that is your sleeve," He motioned to her blouse. "Don't confuse the one with the other if you want to start on the right foot."
Barney finally stepped forward; his eyes alight with new interest. "Hey Doc—I've been thinking. You said that you boasted last night that you could pass her off as a duchess, right? From what you told me? I'll say you're the greatest teacher alive if you can make that good." He turned to Starling suddenly, eyes wide. "No offense, ma'am. There are some mighty snobby rich folk who wouldn't make any better duchesses than the next person." Without awaiting a reply, he turned back to the doctor. "I'll bet you all the expenses of the experiment that you can't do it. I'll even pay for the lessons."
"You haven't any money, Barney."
"I'll take out a loan and pay you back."
"You said you didn't want to be involved."
"I've changed my mind. I want in. I'm curious."
Arching his brows as though the proposition had just been made interesting, Dr. Lecter nodded, turning to him with a smile. "Oh, you're good. You know, it's almost irresistible. I'll take it. I'll make a duchess of this hustling rube." He promptly ignored her hurt eyes, though did take time to admire her promptly supported fortitude. "We'll start today. Now. This moment. I'll cancel my appointments. Though Barney, I must say, I don't want to gamble with expenses. Allow me to handle it."
With sudden promptness, the housekeeper hurried back into the room, betraying her momentary position outside the door. The abrupt entrance stole whatever Barney was going to say off his lips as everyone turned to her. She was shaking her head in firm disagreement; her eyes ablaze with something relative to disgust. "No! No! I will not stand for it."
"Mrs. Pearce!" Dr. Lecter announced, amused. "So glad you could join us."
The woman continued as though she hadn't heard him. "It's unethical! Sir, you can't take up a girl as though she's a pebble on the beach, knowing nothing about her!"
"Why not?"
Mrs. Pearce gaped at the notion that she had to explain herself, as though the world should know in advance. "Why not?" she repeated in disbelief. "Because you don't know anything about her! What about school? What about her teachers? She might be married, for all you know!"
At that, Starling burst out laughing, her own resilience collapsing. "Yeah right!" she exclaimed. "Who'd marry me?"
"By the time I'm through with you, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, strangely serious, "the streets will be strewn with the bodies of men, shooting themselves all for the chance to meet you."
This was rewarded with a gaze that read, 'You've lost it, haven't you?' To that, he smiled inwardly. She was modest, amongst other things. Something else to note.
"Doctor, wait a sec," Barney said, stepping forward. "Let's be clear on some things. We will be asking a lot of her. Six months under constant supervision. If this girl's going to put herself in your hands for six months for an experiment in teaching, she must understand thoroughly what she's doing."
"Why Barney, are you hinting at something?"
His friend shrugged. "Hell if I know. Just for my sake? So I can have a clear conscience?"
Dr. Lecter complied with a nod. "All right, all right. If it will make you feel better." Sharply, he turned his attention to Starling, coaxing the first start out of her since her arrival. At this, he suppressed a grin. She was quick and observant but not without needing improvement. The prospect of being the one to smooth though rough edges was exciting to no end. However, he was all business to her, regarding her with a stern gaze and a grave tone. "Clarice. You are to stay here for the next six months, learning how to speak beautifully, read insight into particularly difficult cases, and cope with those who might cause you grief. I will provide wonderful accommodations, as you are my guest. At the end of the six months, I will take you somewhere special to place your newly uncovered mannerisms on trial. Should all go well, that will be the end of our acquaintance, and I wish you the best. You will face the world newly liberated, a woman who cannot be stopped from obtaining exactly what she wants. Should all not go well, then I will bid you adieu and thank you for a valiant effort." He paused, considering, and added as an afterthought, "I never start a project unless I intend to finish it. Once you agree to this, I will think very lowly of you for changing your mind." A cheap price, some would say, but something told him that she didn't want him to think lowly of her. "Do you understand, Clarice?"
"Yes," she replied, her irritation having dwindled though she was attempting to hold onto it. "It's pretty much black and white, Doctor. I'm not a child."
"Is all agreeable?"
"I think I can manage."
"Excellent." Dr. Lecter finally smiled at her, a sincere smile, extending his hand. Their touch seemed to crackle with electricity, but he denied himself a small shudder. His reaction to her was disconcerting and curious, something he would have to explore on his own.
One thing was certain: this was going to be very interesting.