Tenure Track (12 page)

“
So, is Yale still perfect?” he queried.

She shot him the same strange look that Mandy had delivered when he asked personal questions. “Yes, it is,” she replied. “Any job leads for you?”

He was not prepared for that abrupt query, although he should have been. “No good ones, but I’m still working on it.” The truth was, he had not been looking at all.

“
How about the book? Is the research assistant helping?” she quizzed.

“
Oh, yeah, yeah, she’s great,” he admitted. “I’m definitely getting a lot more stuff than I would if I had to slog through that crap on my own.” He wanted to say more about how efficient Ms. Taylor was, but he refrained, suddenly very self-conscious about discussing the young woman with his wife.

“
Good, good,” she nodded. “And your tenure packet?”

“
It’s coming along. I have until February to turn it in.” Despite his intentions to move, he was still applying for tenure in hopes that promotion by the U. would make him more impressive to other colleges.

“
Why don’t you try to get it together before Christmas and I’ll look it over then?” she advised, returning to her work. Lewis felt as if they had just commenced a business deal. Unable to find a non-work-related topic to discuss, they spent the rest of the evening reviewing each others' lectures and offering advice for improvement. As usual, Laura’s talk was nearly perfect. Lewis had to think hard to play devil’s advocate in ways that might challenge her thesis. She expressed greater scrutiny for his paper, offering several valid suggestions for areas that required more research. He could not change much before his presentation the next day, but her comments helped him anticipate audience reactions. They both went to sleep rehearsing lectures in their heads.

The next day, Lewis presented his panel paper early in the morning to a rather sparse crowd. In contrast, Laura played solo to an early afternoon packed house full of believers anxious to receive wisdom from their divine prophetess. Her lecture was followed by a book signing that threatened to last for hours. Rather than hang around her receiving line or attend any other discussion sessions, Lewis decided to occupy himself by taking a walk.

He was fascinated by well-planned cities where a visitor could easily find his way around and walk to the most important locations. He thought about heading south, towards the capitol, but instead turned north. It was a beautiful autumn day, with cool winds blowing dying leaves through the air. He passed lesser-known monuments, homes decorated for Halloween and the majestic National Cathedral, before ending up at the zoo.

Lewis could not recall the last time he had been to a zoo—probably sometime when he was a child—although he could not retrieve any precise memories. Knowing his parents, they probably shunned zoos due to some concern for animal rights. So in a way, this was his first zoo visit ever. He tried not to feel self-conscious about being a grown man on a such a trip by himself.

The enclosures looked very natural and the animals all seemed happy and well cared for. Some of the habitats, especially for the big cats, were so overgrown with natural foliage that he struggled to spot creatures hiding in the brush. Others were easy to see. He caught himself laughing out loud at the playful otters, admiring the grand speckled bears and marveling at the humanlike qualities of the red lion tamarinds.

Finally he arrived at the panda area, the zoo’s crown jewel. There were indeed pandas now, a pair of mates and their young one on loan from China. They were beautiful, childlike beasts, wrestling with an empty tub, feeding off the leaves of a bamboo shoot. Having only encountered pandas through cartoons, television shows and toys, he never realized how their dark-circled eyes looked simultaneously happy and sad. He stood staring at the creatures for the longest time, wondering what they were thinking, what they felt. He wished that he had a companion with him, someone who could philosophize with him about these amazing animals.

He also wished he had brought his camera. Remembering the cell phone in his pocket, he tried to recall the advice Amanda had given him about how to hold it steady for a clear shot. As the flash of memory whizzed through his mind, so did a strange piercing feeling. He wanted to show the black and white bears to Ms. Taylor.
Amanda Panda.
The thought made him smile.

After shooting several images, he carefully selected a couple of the best ones. During their lessons Amanda had programmed her cell phone number into his phone in case he ever needed to track her down. Bringing up the number, he added a simple message—“Amanda: Saw pandas. LB.”

As it started getting dark, he waved goodbye to the pandas and trekked back southward. His phone beeped before he even reached the hotel.
thx. Mandy.
Two simple words, yet seeing them made Lewis’s body shudder. He dismissed it as a chill from the impending night air, proving the inadequacy of the topcoat he had chosen for protection from the elements. He hailed a taxi to finish his journey back to the hotel.

The sky was black by the time he entered the grand hallway lined with exhibitors. Laura had finished signing books and was now busy chatting with representatives from a publishing house trying to woo her. She did not even notice Lewis walk up behind her.

“
Hey,” he whispered when she finished talking.

Jumping slightly, she replied, “Oh, hey! My Chair asked us to join him for dinner. I hope that’s okay.” Seeing that he was agreeable, she grabbed him by the hand and led him towards the exit. “I need a drink and a good hand massage. How was your afternoon?”

“
Good. I took advantage of the weather to do some sightseeing.” He told her all about the architecture he had noticed along the way, then casually mentioned ending up at the zoo. “Maybe we could go there tomorrow. The pandas were really neat!” he gushed.

“
Neat?” she sneered, shaking out her sore autograph hand. “I’m sure they were, but I only have a couple of free hours. I want to see the new exhibits at the art museum.”

He acquiesced, spending their brief sightseeing time the next day examining the works of old masters. While he appreciated the artistry, something kept drawing his mind back to the pandas: how they looked so happy and so sad at the same time.

Monday morning did not begin well for Lewis. He was already tired from getting in past midnight on a delayed flight. The overabundance of caffeine in his system was starting to make him jittery when his desk phone rang. It was the mother of a junior in his History 315K class. The student had flunked his mid-term exam, prompting an academic warning notice to his home address.

This particular parent had apparently been in the dark about her son’s poor academic performance, launching into a spiel about how the boy had always been a good student, how unlike him this was, and how he had been very sick with the flu much of the semester. Lewis listened politely, but with growing irritation. If the mother’s purpose in calling was to gain a margin of sympathy for her boy, her plan backfired by lowering Lewis’s already sinking opinion of the student. Dr. Burns might have been one of the younger professors on campus, but he firmly believed children over the age of 18 should be able to deal with their own problems. After all, he himself had been younger than this student when the sudden death of his parents forced total independence upon him.

Lewis was still stewing in his exasperation when Mandy came by to pick up her latest assignment out of a file pocket on his open office door. Without even saying ‘hello,’ Lewis glared at her and asked bluntly, “What is wrong with your generation?”

“’
Scuse me?” asked Mandy.

Seizing the opportunity, Lewis used his assistant as the sounding board for all of his negative feelings about college students. “I’ve got this student who doesn’t even make an effort to learn anything, flunks his midterm, then has Mommy call me up to say that he’s been sick, so give him some understanding. I’ve got kids who think it’s appropriate to write term papers using the same shorthand they do for texting and blogging because they’re incapable of writing properly. I’ve got a kid on a golf scholarship who asks me flat out what the minimum is that he has to do to make his required “C” in the course. Like, God forbid he should be taking the class to actually learn anything, because he thinks he’s going to be the next Tiger Woods! Did any of you people actually come to college to learn and grow up or are you just killing time before returning to the nest?”

Mandy wanted to strike a snarky comeback defending her generation, but thought better of it. Instead, she asked, “So . . . who peed in your Post Toasties?”

Lewis instantly mellowed. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, “but these survey classes just drain me. Most of the kids in there don’t care a bit about history or learning anything. They’re just there because they have to be. It’s like teaching to the dregs of society.”

“
Mhmm, so I guess since I’m not a History major, I’m one of the dregs?” she pointed out.

He realized how his words must have sounded. “Oh, no. You’re one of the rare exceptions—the golden child who excels in every class, required or not.” He sighed wistfully. “You, my dear, are the reason I still get up in the morning.”

Mandy looked slightly askance.

“
Take that as a compliment,” he assured her. “Undergrads like you who actually seem to like to learn are the minority around here. You keep us professors going. Really. It’s very easy to become jaded from dealing with those who don’t care. Don’t ever lose that curiosity of yours, young lady. It’s a special gift.”

Mandy muttered a quiet “Thanks.” Lewis seemed to be in a strange mood today, one that she was not eager to entertain. “Well, ‘guess I’d better go satisfy my curiosity about Indian Reform. Hope your day gets better.” As he watched her walk back down the hall, he realized that his foul mood had been lifted.

A Formal Accusation

Gary was in full Piglet mode when Jane entered his office—pacing nervously back and forth, wringing his hands, and muttering to himself. He stopped the pacing and muttering when he saw her, but continued to wring his hands. “Did you see them?” he whispered.

“
No, I don’t think so,” she answered, also whispering for some unknown reason.

Gary’s already puffy cheeks filled with air. “Good. They asked to meet on neutral turf, so I chose the conference room near the President’s office.”

They walked across the building in silence. The Dean was immersed in his thoughts, silently going over the words he had been rehearsing for this encounter. Even though he was sweating profusely, Gary adjusted his tie and buttoned up his blazer before entering the empty room. Jane glanced at her watch: 4:56. Gary stared out the window, distracting himself by watching a squirrel run across a tree branch, its mouth loaded with a half-eaten slice of pizza purloined from a nearby trash bin.

Their guests entered the room at exactly 5 p.m. In front was a lawyerly looking woman in a business suit with matching pearl necklace and earrings, carrying a black briefcase. Behind her, dressed in shorts and a powder blue, sleeveless v-neck blouse, was a student whom Jane recognized from her Web page as Amanda Taylor. Gary cordially stuck out his right hand. “Mrs. Benedict, I presume?” The older woman nodded as they shook hands. “So nice to meet you in person. This is Dr. Jane Roardan, History Department Chair.”

“
Katherine Benedict,” the woman stated, gripping Jane’s hand firmly with her French-manicured appendage. Their eyes assessed one another. Jane had taken care to wear her most professional-looking suit today, offset by her own pearl jewelry set. The two women looked as if they had consulted the same stylist for this meeting, with Katherine clearly having the larger wardrobe budget. Mrs. Benedict had light brown, perfectly quaffed hair; makeup that highlighted her delicate features without looking overdone; and the straight-backed bearing of someone who always meant business.

The main distinction between the two women seemed to be age.
Either Mrs. Benedict has an excellent plastic surgeon or she couldn’t be older than 30,
Jane thought.
Given Mandy’s age, she was guessing the former. In truth, it was a little bit of both. Katherine Ann Evans Taylor Benedict was 38 years-old and, thanks to both her own courtroom success and the business savvy of her current husband, rich enough to afford the North Metro’s finest plastic surgeons. These medical artists had been able to erase most of the stress lines caused by her first husband and lean years when she survived on four hours of nightly sleep and copious amounts of caffeine.

“
My daughter, Amanda,” Ms. Benedict introduced.

“
Mandy,” the student corrected, shaking each hand without making eye contact with either professor. She looked rather embarrassed to be there.

Katherine and Mandy took their seats on the side of the polished walnut table closest to the door. Katherine quickly moved the chairs away from either end, forcing Jane and Gary to sit in the two seats across the table, with their backs against the wall. She clearly was sending the message that this was to be an adversarial process, with her side in the more advantageous position. Not for nothing was she considered one of the best divorce lawyers in the Metroplex region. It was said that when you had Katherine Benedict working against you, you had better be prepared to fork over everything, including your shorts. For her part, Katherine reveled in this well-earned reputation.