“Wow, Manderson, huh? I know a few people out there.”
“Really, who?” I take a nip at my salmon in dill sauce.
“Pyun-Li Kim. We went to high school together. And, oh, the power couple, Hawk Stephens and Sophia Blake.”
Michael’s eyes go wide when he hears me choke, and he rushes to hit his palm on my back, trying to clear my windpipe. “Jesus, Robin, are you okay? Here, have a drink of water.”
I sip, but the lump in my stomach isn’t so easily remedied. I cover over my shock by inventing a white lie, telling Michael I must have swallowed a bone. “What do you mean, power couple?”
“It’s a joke really. Both worked with algorithms around smart grids. You know, using projections to try and balance out power surges by incentivizing reduction in use? Anyway, Sophia and I met at the mathematics Olympiad. I asked her out a few times, but we never really got together. She was a senior when we met, and I was only a sophomore, so I guess I can’t blame her in hindsight. We did become friends, though, kept in touch for a while. Sophia and Hawk met their first time there and she told me Hawk was going to be the guy she married. He’s the whole reason she went to Manderson to begin with.” He pauses, scratching his chin. “I haven’t heard from her in a good six, hell, nine months. She might have graduated since then. I’m not sure if she was going for just her master’s or her PhD, too. Have you ever met her?”
This time I pull the salmon off my fork with a methodic dissonance. “No, but I’ve met him.”
By the time dessert comes around, I find myself getting antsy. The cell feels like a two-pound brick in my pocket, and it takes everything I have not to whip it out and dial Mr. Stephens ASAP. Whether he wants to talk to me or not is irrelevant; I have to know about this Sophia and what she meant to him. I have to know why she isn’t around anymore. Maybe I inject too much of my own experience into his life, but I have to know if she left because of something that happened between them. I can’t risk having my heart broken by someone with a track record. I’ve driven down that road before and I didn’t like the view.
Just as Prof. Harrison finally descends from his cloud of prestige and finds me at the back of the hall, I make my decision. Yes, I will ask him, but I’m going to do it in person. I need to see his face when he explains. Also, I want him to see the sincerity in my eyes when I tell him how sorry I am for everything. I shoot up from my seat, ready to leave. I’m bristling with anticipation at having a chance to call Hawk. I also want to report back to him just how wrong about Prof. Harrison he was.
“Robin! Just wanted to check on you before I turn in,” he says, leaving me confused.
“Turn into what?”
Now he seems just as perplexed as I am. “Turn in … for the night,” he explains in a tone that makes me feel both sick to my stomach and smaller than a pea.
“I thought we were only coming down for the day. I didn’t …” I search my memories, trying to remember any suggestion otherwise. “I thought we’d be driving back tonight.”
“No, it’s a two-day conference. When I said I would cover your travel expenses, I was mostly talking about the hotel.”
I see disappointment overcome Prof. Harrison and struggle not to internalize it. Trying to make a quick recovery, I plaster a faux smile over my face and reach down for my laptop bag.
“It’s okay. I’ll go to the front desk and get a room for the night. My mistake.”
I’m desperate to spare myself further embarrassment and turn to leave the room before I have the opportunity. It’s not until I’m a dozen brisk paces into the hall and away from the crowd that I realized he’s followed me.
“I tried to have my assistant change my room this morning,” he says over my shoulder, jolting me to a stop with surprise. “The organizers booked me a suite, and I didn’t want to waste their money. Clean sheets and a twin mattress do me fine. Anyway, point is, Karen said there were no other rooms available. You’re not going to be able to get anything.”
I try to douse my frustrations, but before I realize it, I’m biting on my bottom lip and trying not to pout. I cast my eyes to the floor, not wanting the professor to see me regressing to the state of a high school drama queen. When I feel something squeezing my arm, I gasp and look up.
He continues rubbing my arm and offering me sympathy with his gaze. “Don’t worry, there’s got to be something.”
“Maybe I can sleep in your car?” I suggest, trying not to sound too ridiculous.
“Well, if you really want to, but it’s getting pretty cold out tonight and my backseat isn’t really that conducive to being horizontal.” I see him blush, and for a moment I feel like we’re equals in embarrassment. “Just don’t ask me how I know, but having said that … well, probably all the more reason for you not to sleep there.”
“Then, what?”
He shoves his hands in to his pocket and shies his eyes away. “I have a suite, like I said. The couch in the sitting area is a sleeper sofa. I normally wouldn’t do this with a student, but it is a unique circumstance. If you like you could—”
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve thrown my arms around Prof. Harrison, even though the feat requires me to curl up on my toes to account for the difference in our heights. I feel him go stiff, but a moment later he lifts his arms and gives me a tap on the back.
“Robin, this probably isn’t the best place to, you know …” He clears his throat.
Immediately I feel my cheeks go red as I pull back. “Oh, yeah, no. And I probably shouldn’t follow you right now straight there for the same reason.”
“No, probably not,” he agrees. “Especially when you’re blushing like a prom date. Room 1123. Wait about twenty minutes. I’ll call housekeeping and make sure there’s enough pillows and blankets.”
“Thank you, Prof. Harrison. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it. This is twice you bailed me out of a tough situation.”
He grins and turns halfway toward the hallway where the conference center meets the hotel. “The first time I did, you paid me back by helping me with the speech I gave here. I have to admit, Robin, I’m curious how you’ll pay me back this time.”
50% of 30
I make sure there’s no one in the hall when I reach the room and tap the door with my fingertips. Apparently sharing my concern, Prof. Harrison peeks his head out the door and scans the hall.
“I checked, there’s no one,” I assure him.
He stretches his neck a little further before ushering me in and closing the door. The deadbolt and the slide chain screech and shimmy into place, and I wonder if he isn’t a little overly cautious.
Harrison points toward the bathroom. “Housecleaning brought by an extra toothbrush and a few other toiletries. I put them in there by the sink. I also pulled out an extra undershirt. I figured you probably didn’t bring anything to sleep, and that suit you’re wearing doesn’t look too comfortable.”
An awkward silence fills the space between us. I feel it, and he looks it. “Um, thanks.”
“No problem.”
A few minutes later, when I emerge from the bathroom, the white fabric falls down over my torso and the hem of the loaned T-shirt rubs about two inches above my knees. I tell myself that the garment cuts just about the same as many of the dresses I wear without a second thought. The fact that I’ve kept my bra on helps me to convince myself that I am, in fact, clothed totally appropriately.
Prof. Harrison sits at the small table flanked by two dining chairs. Amber liquid swirls in the tumblers in his hands. He reaches one out to me, and I take it as I sit down opposite him.
“I never got to thank you,” I say before tipping a taste on my tongue. The alcohol burns my throat, but I’m looking forward to its ability to normalize this uncomfortable situation through metabolic manipulation. “For the s
hout out after your talk, I mean,” I clarify when he gives me a confused expression. “Though I guess we can add rescuing me from a night on the hotel lobby sofa to the list.”
A flash of a smile evaporates as soon as it hits the air. “You’re welcome for both. I believe Lamertus definitely will think you’re worthy now. Though, you really should consider my group.”
“After all you’ve done for me, consider me extremely tempted.”
I feel the skin on my forehead wrinkle as Prof. Harrison’s expression crosses into unfamiliar territory. His soft gaze falls over me, as though he’s restudying my features in detail. The alcohol must work quickly in his system. It occurs to me that he’s taken on the look of the slightly inebriated.
“Are you asking me to proposition you, Robin?”
His words lilt from sound to sound. Within me, a cord of unease begins to pretzel.
Prof. Harrison’s eyes brighten as he coughs a laugh. “For my group,” he amends. “Fine, consider this my official extension. Robin Lewis, would you please consider joining my research group? I have plenty of funding, and we’ve already learned that we work well together. Plus, you have access to valuable, unpublished articles.”
I grasp for diplomacy. “That was just really a coincidental fluke. Blind luck.”
His eyes narrow. “A mathematician knows there’s no such thing as luck. Everything is the result of a calculated measure, a formulaic consequence. Every possible result of a decision, a subset of consequences.”
I shift in my seat. “I assure you, I will examine every opportunity, considering that you’re the only one who’s actually made a formal offer to me so far.”
“After what I did for you today, as well as before, I think you owe my offer a very firm consideration.”
His tone goes from sincere to somewhat sinister. I’m not a fool; I knew all Prof. Harrison’s favors were clear indications of his desire for my working with him, but I don’t like what’s happening. I’ve seen this play before; no matter the change in cast, it still turns out to be a tragedy in the end.
Putting down the tumbler, I stand and Prof. Harrison mirrors my movements. Unlike my glass, however, his is already empty.
“Prof. Harrison, I want you to know I’m very appreciative to you for everything. I am, of course, open to working with you in general, but I really have to take all offers under consideration and choose the one that best fits my goals.”
He paces in my direction, and instinctively, I step back. It’s not until the back of my legs hit the edge of the pullout sleeper he’s already prepared for me that I feel the gravity in the room invert on its axis, causing me to almost fall over. Luckily, I’m able to keep my balance, but the shift of my eyes over my shoulder help me to find the two additional minibar bottles of booze laying empty in plain view. All it really takes is an inhalation of his heated breath for me to confirm what happened to the contents.
His hand raises to stroke my arm, and I freeze with fear.
“You’re a very beautiful woman, Robin.” His manicured hand reaches up to ghost a trail down the side of my face. “And so intelligent. You really could go far in this field, if you know how to work the system. I have Lamertus eating out of the palm of my hand about you. That’s no small feat, given how much that wrinkly old bastard is set in his chauvinistic ways. That also means, however, that it would be very easy to,” Harrison’s hands stops on my bicep as he digs his fingers into my flesh, making me wince, “close off my hand and make all that go away.”
“Prof. Harrison, you’re drunk and you’re scaring me.”
His hand pauses and his eyes turn tender as he lifts both of his hands to my face, his thumb moving over my bottom lip. “Shhh, Robin. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to give you the opportunity to show me how much you really appreciate all I’ve done—and will do—for you. Assuming you make the right decision, that is.”
My hands fly up. “Okay, I need you to back off now. I can defend myself, and I will be telling the chair if you try to coerce me.”
“Whoa there, Lewis!”
He squeezes my cheeks, and I taste blood as my teeth dig into the side of my mouth. “He’s not going to believe a new graduate student over a tenured faculty. Besides, your record speaks against you. Oh, yes, Robin, I read your file. You’re not exactly inexperienced in a relationship like this, are you?”
Memories of Matthias Gnomon’s body against mine flash before me, and with them, the shame revisits me. Regardless, I have to stay in this moment, and I can’t allow the ghosts of those events to blind me to what’s going on here and now.
“First, that was supposed to be a sealed record.” I swallow my fear and try to keep my voice steady as I twist my face out of Harrison’s grasp. “Second, that was completely different. My relationship with Matthias was consensual. Wrong, but consensual.”
“And so is this, because you’re not going to fight me. No one ever fights me, once they learn what I can do. Just give me what I want, and I’ll make sure you get what you want. I’m not forcing you to do anything, understand? I work quid pro quo. You want Lamertus’s interest? Fine. You want to be in my group, even better. However, you have to give me something in return. That’s just the way the world works, sweetheart.”
“No!” I try to back up, but the sofa sleeper behind me forces me to fall back. In a moment, Prof. Harrison takes advantage. His body crashes down over me as his hands pin mine over my head.
“Get off of me!”
“You understand the ramifications of saying no, don’t you?” His mouth dips to my neck and I feel his tongue working against my flesh.
I gnash my teeth as I answer, “You’re the one that needs to understand ramifications, asshole.”
Years spent practicing jujitsu come rushing back to me. Pulling my feet up as high as I can, I buck my hips up, forcing Prof. Harrison’s body to lose its dominance. He lands a little to the left of me, and I bring my teeth to his chin and bear down, ripping into his flesh as his scream rents the air. In a moment, he’s jumping off of me and has a hand over his injury. I’m already scrambling off the bed when a string of profanity emanates from his mouth. I rush to the door, but my hands shake too much and I have trouble with the second lock. It gives him just enough time to reach me. I feel his hands on my waist, trying to pull me back.
To his surprise, I give in to him, but then push my body off the wall with both feet as he lifts me, sending both of us back on the floor. He breaks my fall, making it easy for me to roll off him before he can recover and turn, sending my foot on a warpath to the most sensitive part of his body. I note with disgust his apparent arousal. He howls in agony as I run back to the door and manage the locks just as he lunges forward on all fours.
I’m not even sure where I’m going as I flee. A few faces appear from cracked doors as I bolt down the hall. One woman even steps out of her room and asks me as I pass if there’s something wrong. If rationality and I were breaking bread at the moment, I’d stop and ask her to help me, and we’d go into her room and call security or the police. The density of my thoughts surprise me; in an instant, I see the whole thing playing out. The police arrive, take a statement, and arrest Prof. Harrison. Suddenly, I see myself walking shame-faced into yet another department where my name is dragged through the mud. I’d never get an advisor, as every accomplishment and credit I claim is questioned.
I don’t want to become the witch upon the stake again. If I do, I’ll burn.
My instincts have me on full throttle and I want … I need to get away from this place. I need to get out. I need to figure out what I’m supposed to do to fix this.
I need Hawk.
42
This part of the country doesn’t get frigidly cold, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel the chill as mud cakes my feet and ank
les. The blanket of fog has made my T-shirt damp, causing me to shiver.
My T-shirt. It isn’t, though, is it? It’s his. The disgust at that thought makes me want to rip it off of me and discard it right where I stand. However, considering that’s on the edge of a parking lot at midnight under the flood of a fluorescent light with nothing else on my body but my underclothes, I stop myself. I kick myself mentally for not trying to grab at least my clothes or maybe my cell phone as I fled the room. Then I remind myself of what I just endured, and know I didn’t have a choice.
A few blocks from the conference property I finally find a pay phone. Just a few weeks ago, I was telling one of my classmates how ridiculous it was that in the cellular phone age, these relics still endured. Now I think I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. A flood of relief fills me when I pick up the receiver and hear the monophonic buzz of a dial tone. I tell the operator the phone number for the collect call and wait to see whether or not he’ll accept.
A few moments later, there’s a click. “I’m sorry, miss, but your party isn’t accepting the charges.”
I nearly break down in tears. “No!” My teeth dig into the flesh of my fingers as I bite, trying to quell the dramatics. “Please, try again. Tell him I really need to talk to him.”
“I’m sorry, miss, I can’t do that.”
“Please!” My voice cracks. “You don’t understand what I’ve been through. What he tried—” I cut myself off, knowing the public line is probably being recorded somewhere and not wanting to put anything on record that might come back at me someday.
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