" I don't like painting," Paul groused. "I worked for my dad one summer,painting and putting up vinyl siding. I hate ladders, I hate gettingpaint in my hair." The Delta chapter president from California was atall, easy-going, charismatic young man of Danish descent with a charmingsmile and sparkling blue eyes. He had won the fraternity election notinsupport of any particular proposals or ideas he had for the betterment ofthe fraternity's goals, because when it came to goals, Paul had none,butby virtue of being the most affable and unobjectionable candidate duringthe power vacuum created when last year's seniors departed. Paul's ideaof being fraternity president involved deciding what other people had todo; as far as he was concerned, his job was to sell the ideas thatsomebody else would have to come up with. To be fair, he was quite goodat convincing others to chip in their share, and even better at makingpeople fail to notice he hadn't chipped in his. He dressed well, heldhis. Wendy and I fixed dinner every evening, but only for ourselves; we didn't give a fuck about Kwong's comfort. Kwong seemed unfazed by our lack of hospitality. He wasn't there to socialize with us, and he prepared his own meals.This little arrangement ended with the beginning of harvest season, and my subsequent transfer back to the agricultural sector. With Wendy and I no longer working together, I guess Choi deemed it less necessary for us to have a full-time babysitter. Kwong was relieved of his duties, and Wendy and I had our little haven returned to us. We still had to be careful about what we discussed – now, we were sure that the place was bugged – but in most respects, things reverted back to normal.Except, that is, for Sandra's absence. God, we missed her. What had they done to her? We couldn't help but dwell on the likelihood that Sandra had somehow been done in by going to great lengths to help us. Had we received even the slightest indication that she was alive and able to.
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