Deceptions (14 page)

Then, just as Michel warned her about Roiy Carr, Antonio telephoned. Maybe those Guarani Indians had something after all; maybe it was an omen. How did she know Antonio wouldn't share a problem and help her solve it? It was time she found out. With an eager step she went to take his call.

Garth opened his office window to the lake breeze as the morning sun climbed in the sky. Already it was hotter than usual for the end of May, and a few students dangled bare feet fi-om the rocks along the shore, yelping as their toes met the forty-five-degree water. Frisbees sailed over huddled groups studying for finals, bicyclists passed lovers strolling beneath the trees, fingers tucked in the back pockets of each other's jeans. The air smelled of summer; a time to be outside. But Garth had an appointment. He rummaged for his file on Vivian Goodman. If he was lucky, he might get in a short

walk before his two o'clock class. He was halfway to the door when the telephone rang.

'Garth,' Stephanie said. 'I have to talk to you about Cliff.'

'I'm meeting with the dean. I'll call you back in—'

'No, this is my only time alone in the office, everybody went to lunch early. Please, Garth.'

'Well, if it can't wait until tonight. What's he been up to?'

*I think he's been stealing things.'

'Stealing—? I don't believe it. Why do you think so?'

'I found a radio and two calculators in his closet this morning, under a pile of clothes. I was going to wash them—*

'Under the clothes?'

'Yes. Still in their boxes. They've never been opened.'

'I can't believe ... He didn't steal them.*

'Then how did they get there?'

'Maybe they belong to his friends.'

'Garth, he hid them.'

'Well, what do you think happened?'

'Someone in my office says kids are stealing things and selling them.'

'What for? He has an allowance, and he's earned extra money all year cleaning basements and attics. Why would a sixth-grade kid need money, anyway? I thought even his richest friends have to wait until seventh grade for their first Mercedes.'

'Garth, don't joke; it's not funny.'

'It's not funny at all. Stephanie, Cliff is a solid, straight boy; he's not a thief. But it occurs to me that he could be envious of all the wealthy kids in his school. Or maybe ashamed. If some of his friends have taken up shoplifting as a hobby, they might have talked him into going along. Have you asked him how he feels about his classmates buying whatever their spoiled hearts desire?'

'Have you asked him?'

'If I had, I'd know the answer. Stephanie, I'm sony, but I'm late for my appointment. We'll talk tonight.'

'I want you to come home early and talk to Cliff. It just

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occurred to you he might be envious? It occurred to me a long time ago. You don't talk to him; you don't even know what he's thinking.'

'Not always, but he should nave secrets. I did, at his age; I thought parents were nosy intruders. Does Cliff know you go into his room?'

'No, and don't tell him. He's told me not to.'

'Then how do I talk to him about the goods?'

'You'll think of something. We can't ignore it. Garth. When will you be home?'

'About six.'

He raced up the stairs. William Webster, Dean of Sciences, was waiting for him, floating in a haze of pipe smoke behind his desk. Garth opened his file and sat down. 'Bill, I'm asking you to reverse the tenure committee decision on Vivian Goodman.'

'I figured.' Webster leaned back, his chair creaking beneath his bulk. A happy man with a contented paunch and a bald head shining with satisfaction, he disliked controversy. For a week he had tried to deflect Garth to his assistant, but eleven years in a university had taught Garth its political maneuverings. Now he waited on the edge of Webster's protective smoke screen for the dean to talk about Vivian Goodman. 'You held two meetings on her? You read her papers and her book on research techniques? You read the evaluations from other biochemists?' Garth nodded. 'So you followed procedure. And the vote was eleven to nine to deny tenure, thus dismissing her fi-om the faculty. Garth, you know that granting tenure is like a marriage: giving a professor a lifetime job, inviting him into your professional family forever. You have to be mighty sure of him to do that.'

'Or her.'

'I am told," Webster went on, ignoring the interruption, 'that Mrs Goodman's published papers are a bit sloppy and her book does not blaze new trails. Her most enthusiastic supporters seem to be her students. Which, of course, means very little. Dear me, nobody was more popular with students than you, my boy, but you would never have gotten tenure if your research and scholarship hadn't been &it-rate. We're

proud you're one of us. And students still like you and so does the faculty. Why, if you were ambitious, you might knock me out of my seat.' He laughed heartily. 'Lucky for me you prefer your laboratory. Well, I'm glad we had this chat; it's a pity Mrs Goodman has to leave, but she'll find another job and we'll muddle along without her. Glad you came in. Garth.'

Garth sat still as Webster rose through his smoke to escort him to the door. 'Please sit down, Bill,' he said quietly. Webster hesitated, frowned and sat down. 'Vivian is as good a biochemist as most of those in the department. Her work isn't sloppy, it's meticulous. It's true that she's not a trailblazer, but how many in the department are? Most of the faculty that you tell me I am in some mystical way married to spend their time snipping away at old ideas, not whacking trails after new ones. The truth is, Vivian was voted out because she's a woman.'

'Oh, come now, oh, shame on you, my boy, you know I do not tolerate prejudice; I will not be accused of it. Mrs Goodman was treated like any other faculty member and the vote went against her. I will not be intimidated into granting tenure to someone just because she is a woman, ignoring her work—'

'I've told you her work is quite satisfactory.'

'So you say. But others—'

The evaluations from other universities agree.'

'But your committee. Garth, your own committee voted. How could I overrule it? Now, I myself have not read Mrs Goodman's work, but in my experience anyone with a home, a husband and two children to care for cannot possibly do the kind of work men produce with one hundred percent effort. This is not a criticism; I've met Mrs Goodman, and she is attractive and seemingly intelligent. But we cannot ignore the many demands on her time. We have a responsibility to science.'

Garth kept his voice even. 'Bill, eleven men voted against the promotion of one woman who is as good a scientist as most of them and a better teacher. I can't pretend that's standard procedure. I am making a formal request that you reverse the decision.' He held out the folder. 'I've written the

minority report, signed by all nine of us. It includes a list of women denied tenure in the last twelve years, with descriptions of their scholarship. I'll leave it with you and call back in a week to talk about it.'

Webster kept his hands folded. 'Ah, Garth, I won't be able to read it. I am truly sony, but I leave tomorrow on a business trip.'

After a moment, Garth drew back his hand. 'I'll have to take this to the vice president. Bill, you understand that.'

'Garth, what's gotten into you? Why are you playing cowboy on a white horse? Don't tell me you've got a thing going with this woman? You'll make a fool of yourself, going over my head; and if it comes to a battle, I can line up quite a force against you.'

Garth stood, towering over the dean. His dark eyes were burning, but his voice was low. 'You've called me a cowboy, a fool, a liar and an adulterer, all in less than a minute. That must be some kind of record. Bill. Enjoy your trip.'

Webster called out 'My boy—!' but Garth was gone, striding down the corridor, down a stairway, down another corridor to his office. In the comer beside his desk was his tennis racket, and he picked it up, slamming an invisible ball with furious strokes. 'Damned idiot. Ass. Braying his monumental stupidity—'

'Oh, excuse me,' said a startled voice, and he turned to see the rosy face of Rita McMillan, a senior in his two o'clock genetics class.

He grinned and lowered his racket. 'It beats warfare. What can I do for you, Rita? Sit down; I'm harmless.'

She sat on the edge of a chair. 'It's ... our final paper.'

'You chose the paper instead of the exam?'

'Well, I thought I'd do better 'cause I sort of... freeze up in exams?' He nodded, wondering why students so often turned statements into questions, as if asking if they really meant what they were saying. 'But now I'm having problems with the paper.'

'Then take the exam. You can change your mind.'

Tears filled her wide eyes. 'I don't think I can do either one.'

'You mean you want an incomplete so you can finish up thissununer.'

'No, then I wouldn't graduate, and my parents...' Tears rolled from her eyes in round droplets and she dabbed them with a tiny handkerchief.

Garth frowned. 'What do you want to do, then?'

She looked at him carefully through her tears. 'You know those times we had coffee and talked about my research project? I was thinking about them; they were, you know, just about the best nights I ever had. And then that time, you know, we had tea at the student union? We talked and talked and I could tell, you know, how much you liked me and... well, anyway, you know, some of the girls told me—^not, you know, in this department, but in some ... well, they're—I mean, their professors are... well, you know, we could have coffee again, is what I mean, at my apartment this time... and we could ... and then I could ... show you my paper? I mean, it's not finished, but you could give me—Uke, a C and, you know, I could graduate and ... oh, don't look like that—!'

All the coiled anger Garth had carried from the dean's ofBce exploded inside him. 'You stupid little fool. You ... whore.' He paced to his window and back. 'Selling yourself for a grade when there are women knocking themselves out for a degree, a job, a good salary, tenure ... and getting trampled by self-righteous men. But you know how to get what you want, don't you? You don't need brains, just tears and a cunt—oh, my God.* He took a long breath and flung himself past her to stand at the door. 'You'd better leave. I'll give you an incomplete if you can't finish your paper or take the exam, but that's all I'll do. Now get out. Just get out of here.'

She scurried around him, wide-eyed, but from astonishment, he noted, not fear. She had expected a different reaction. Had he really given her a reason to think— 7 His telephone rang and he snatched it up. 'Andersen,' he barked.

'Professor Andersen? One moment please for Mr Kallen.'

Kallen? Who the hell was—? 'Professor Andersen, this is Horace Kallen, president of Foster Laboratories, in Stamford,

Connecticut. You participated in a seminar we sponsored a year ago in Chicago.'

*Mr Kallen, I have a class in five minutes.*

'Then I won't keep you. I'm going to be in Chicago next week, and I wondered if we could have lunch together.'

Garth began to pay attention. Presidents of international companies did not call professors for lunch dates; their secretaries did that. 'I suppose so,' he said. 'But if it's another seminar—'

'Oh, no.' A chuckle came over the wires. 'We'd like to talk to you about your joining us here in Stamford as director of our new research facility. We're interviewing several candidates, but you are definitely our first choice.'

The bell in the administration building tolled twice. 'When will you be here?' Garth asked.

'Tuesday. Shall we say one o'clock at the Ritz-Carlton?'

'Yes.'

Later, sitting on the couch in the kitchen while Stephanie made dinner, he told her about it. 'A year ago I wouldn't have considered it. But after Bill threatened me with a battle—'

'How much would it pay?' Stephanie asked. Her back was to him as she sliced vegetables.

*I don't know. Would you really want to move to Connecticut?'

'I'd move tomorrow.'

He was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. 'You like Evanston. Our friends, the kids' school, your job—'

'The job is dull, we'd make new friends, I'm sure Stamford has fine schools.' Opening the refrigerator, she took out lettuce, a red onion, cherry tomatoes. She looked at him. 'It would be wonderful to have money. And be close to New York. Some excitement for a change.'

Garth was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He had only made the lunch date because of his anger at Webster, fueled by the encounter with Rita McMillan; he had no reason to leave the university. But Stephanie had jumped at it. They knew nothing about the job, but already she was finding reasons to accept it while Garth, having cooled off from

Webster, was losing interest even in the lunch. But of course he would go, if only to satisfy Stephanie.

'We'll see what Kallen says.' He watched Stephanie turn back to the counter. 'I didn't tell you about Rita McMillan. Damnedest thing—'

'Are you going to accept the job?'

'It hasn't been offered.'

•If it's offered.'

'I don't know. I told you I'd see what Kallen says. I started to tell you about Rita—'

'Mom!' Penny cried, running in. 'We're starved!'

'Have you set the table?'

'It's Cliff's turn.'

'Well, has CUff set it?'

'He's doing it now.'

'Make sure he remembers the napkins. And have both of you washed your hands?'

Stephanie took potatoes from the oven. The kitchen was silent. Garth waited, then shrugged and picked up the newspaper.

'Mom—!' Penny said.

'All right. Penny. Garth,' Stephanie said. 'Come to dinner.'

'Stephanie—'

'Sabrina! I've been calling and calling—*

'I was in the country, and I gave Mrs Thirkell all of July for her vacation.*

'I've been worried that you might be in trouble.'

'My bad dreams reached all the way to Evanston?'

'You are in trouble.'

'No, but I thought I was. A couple of weeks ago I was afraid I might have bought a forged porcelain, but I checked it and it's genuine. No more bad dreams. How's your estate business? Have you found some wonderful antiques for me?'