“Gabriel,” Julia said, her voice a warning. She leaned over and took his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t. We knew the risks when we got involved. I don’t care what they do to me.” Her voice broke on the words, but she spoke them anyway. “I don’t care about Harvard or my PhD. I don’t want to lose you.”
A strange fire illuminated Gabriel’s eyes. “Not even Hell could keep me from you,” he whispered.
The lovers embraced desperately, drawing comfort from each other’s very skin.
“Are you going to tell me what happened with Professor Martin?”
Gabriel took Julia’s hand and led her into the master bathroom where he began drawing a bath. “You relax, I’ll talk.”
“I’m not in the mood for a bubble bath. I kind of feel like taking a crow bar to something.”
(Something appalling and poorly made. Like domestic beer.)
“That’s why you need a bubble bath. I have to preserve the walls of my apartment.”
Julia undressed and settled herself amongst the suds. He regarded her intensely—the way her long hair was pinned up haphazardly on top of her head, the gentle contours of her breasts floating amidst the water like two white, pink tipped lilies, the way she bit at her lip until she realized he was staring at it.
“Do you remember the first time we bathed together?” she asked as she watched him settle his tall form on a low stool.
“I’m not likely to forget it.”
“You were worried I was hurting, and you carried me to the tub.” She smiled shyly. “That was one of the kindest things you’ve ever done for me.”
“Thank you.” He gave her a peck on a cheek. “But I can’t reminisce about happy things with you. I’m far too angry for that. I’d like to rip out David Aras’s tongue and strangle him with it.”
“What about Professor Martin?”
Gabriel paused, clearing his throat. “If Christa’s complaint had stood alone, he would have interviewed me, perhaps spoken to a few others around the department, and concluded that her charge was fabricated. Her complaint against you, however, complicates things.”
“What did your lawyer say?”
“I decided to meet with Jeremy alone.”
Julia sat bolt upright, the water sloshing around her. “What? I thought you told your lawyer about the complaint so he would accompany you.”
Gabriel leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Jeremy hired me. I consider him a friend. I thought it was more likely that we could cut through the bullshit and deal with the issue if I didn’t bring my lawyer.”
Julia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What did he say?”
“Christa claims that I tried to initiate a sexual relationship with her on a number of different occasions, including meetings that we had on and off campus. She mentioned our interactions at Starbucks and at Lobby.” His eyes shifted to Julia’s.
“She’s also accusing me of punishing her by rejecting her thesis proposal and threatening to have her dismissed from the PhD program. She claims that after she spurned me, I made her life hell.”
“But it’s all lies. She was the one harassing you.”
“Exactly, and I said as much. Jeremy was quite cross. He told me that I should have come to him immediately and filed a complaint. Obviously, my claim is not very credible at this point, but there are a couple of things that Christa did not take into consideration.”
“Such as?”
“Her academic file. Jeremy and I had at least two discussions about her poor progress over the course of last semester. He was well aware of the fact that she was struggling. Notes from those discussions, along with copies of her work, are in her file. Also, Paul was present during some of my interactions with Christa. I suggested that Jeremy speak with him, along with Mrs. Jenkins.”
“Paul was with me in Starbucks the day you met with Christa. She told us she was planning on persuading you to take her to Lobby—that she was going to be exchanging more than names with you that evening.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
“I forgot about that conversation, or I would have mentioned it earlier. Paul and I were having coffee and Christa came in before you arrived. She was bragging about how she was going to seduce you.”
Gabriel stroked his chin, deep in thought. “And Paul heard her say this?”
“Yes,” said Julia, fighting a smile. “I guess the Angelfucker might turn out to be a guardian angel.”
Gabriel scowled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. What else did she say?”
“Not much. We saw you meet with Christa, but we were too far away to hear what you were saying. Her body language seemed pretty obvious. She was trying to flirt with you, and you scolded her. I could tell Professor Martin that.”
“Absolutely not. You’re too involved as it is.” He scratched at his chin once again. “Jeremy asked that I not speak to Paul about Christa. The situation is a bit touchy because Paul is working for me, but Jeremy agreed to talk to him. It would be best if you didn’t speak to Paul about this, either. The less said on the topic the better.”
“He doesn’t like Christa. One of the first things he ever said to me was that she wanted to become Mrs. Emerson. He knows she was after you.”
Gabriel grimaced. “I reminded Jeremy that I approved Christa’s dissertation proposal back in December, after giving her numerous chances to fix it. Let’s hope that when he talks to Paul, he’s able to grasp a clear picture of what actually happened.”
Julia closed her eyes, resting her head back in the bathtub. She knew that they could rely on Paul to tell the truth. Despite his antipathy to Professor Emerson, he wouldn’t give credence to Christa’s false allegations.
Gabriel stood up. “There’s one other thing I need to tell you.”
“What’s that?” Julia asked, eyes still closed.
“Jeremy asked if we were involved. And I said—yes.”
She opened her eyes, staring up at him. “What?”
“I told him that we didn’t get involved until the Christmas break.” Gabriel’s expression grew tense.
“Did he believe you?”
“He seemed to, but he was angry. He told me I should have come to him immediately. He said that he was obligated to report me to the Dean for failing to follow university policy.”
“Oh, no.” Julia reached for Gabriel’s hand. “What are we going to do?”
“He said that because of our other troubles, he isn’t going to muddy the waters—for now. But he was adamant in telling me that he wasn’t going to cover things up.”
Gabriel leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Don’t worry about Jeremy. I’ll handle him. While you’re finishing your bath, I’ll update my lawyer so we can plan our next move.” He smiled and turned to leave.
“Gabriel, there is one more thing. Well, two more things, actually.
“Soraya is filing a complaint against Christa, on my behalf, arguing that she targeted me maliciously.”
“Good. Maybe that will cause her to rethink her actions.”
“And in my meeting with Nicole yesterday she mentioned that you weren’t in therapy anymore.”
Gabriel saw Julia’s expression, one of irritation mixed with sadness, and his shoulders slumped.
Chapter 22
In the grand scheme of things, Gabriel’s failure to mention the fact that he’d stopped going to therapy was unimportant. Or so Julia believed. They argued about it briefly, but both of them were too worried about their troubles with the university to do more than that.
Gabriel received a terse note from Jeremy the following week, indicating that he’d interviewed both Mrs. Jenkins and Paul. Other than that, he and Julia didn’t receive any communication from the university.
David Aras spent his Friday night alone in the office of his house with a bottle of Jameson whiskey. It was not unusual for him to do so. In his position as Dean of Graduate Studies he often brought
work home. On this particular evening he found himself mired in a very tricky, very sensitive situation.
Miss Peterson’s harassment complaint had been challenged by the testimony of more than one witness. However, the academic fraud complaint against Miss Mitchell had alerted him to a possible case of fraternization between Julia and Professor Emerson. The problem was that the evidence was contradictory.
According to the information passed on by Professor Martin, Paul Norris had painted a glowing picture of Miss Mitchell and her character. As the whiskey burned his throat, David wondered if all women Mr. Norris came in contact with had mysteriously sprouted wings or if he simply had a weakness for young women from Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania.
(Wherever the hell that was.)
According to Mr. Norris and Mrs. Jenkins, Miss Mitchell was a timid young woman who was disliked by Professor Emerson. Mr. Norris went further to claim that the professor had fought openly with her in his seminar.
Subsequent to the confrontation in class, Emerson had approached Professor Picton to supervise Miss Mitchell’s thesis, citing the fact that she was a friend of his family as the reason why he could no longer continue to supervise her. Here is where David was puzzled.
Professor Emerson hadn’t objected to Miss Mitchell’s admission to the program, knowing that he was the only professor who directed theses on Dante. If there was such an obvious conflict of interest, why hadn’t he objected? Or declared the conflict of interest to Professor Martin at the beginning of the semester?
The files on Professor Emerson and Miss Mitchell did not make sense. And David did not like it when things did not make sense. (For his universe was nothing if not sensical.)
As he pondered the evidence, he inserted a flash drive into his computer. He opened the single folder on the drive and began scanning through the emails that had been culled obligingly from Professor Emerson’s account by someone in the Information Technology office. He adjusted the parameters to include only those messages that had been sent to or received from Miss Mitchell, Miss Peterson, Mr. Norris, and Professor Picton.
In a few minutes, David found something that surprised him. On his screen, were emails that had been sent before the end of October 2009. The first email had been written by Professor Emerson to Miss Mitchell:
Dear Miss Mitchell,
I need to speak to you concerning a matter of some urgency.
Please contact me as soon as possible. You may telephone me at the following number: 416-555-0739 (cell).
Regards,
Prof. Gabriel O. Emerson,
Associate Professor
Department of Italian Studies/
Centre for Medieval Studies
University of Toronto
The second email was sent by Miss Mitchell to Professor Emerson in response to his message:
Dr. Emerson,
Stop harassing me.
I don’t want you anymore. I don’t even want to know you. If you don’t leave me alone, I will be forced to file a harassment complaint against you. And if you call my father, I will do just that. Immediately.
If you think I’m going to let an insignificant thing like this drive me from the program, then you are very much mistaken. I need a new thesis director, not a bus ticket home.
Regards,
Miss J. H. Mitchell,
Lowly Graduate Student,
On-Knees-More-Than-The-Average-Whore.
P.S. I will be returning the M. P. Emerson bursary next week. Congratulations, Professor Abelard. No one has ever made me feel as cheap as you did Sunday morning.
The Dean straightened in his chair. He read the two emails once again, examining every word.
Although he had a vague memory of who Peter Abelard was, he indulged his curiosity and Googled him. He clicked on a reputable biography and began reading.
Quod erat demonstrandum, he thought.
Chapter 23
Downtown, Jeremy Martin was reclining on his leather sofa, eyes closed, listening to Beethoven while his wife got ready for bed. As the Chair of Italian Studies, he was responsible for a number of people, including faculty and students. Gabriel’s revelation that he was dating a former student troubled him.
He knew that Christa Peterson’s complaint was malicious, but like any other complainant, she should be taken seriously. Given the fact that she was correct in surmising that Gabriel and Julianne were involved, it was quite possible that her allegation that Julianne had received special favors was also correct. Gabriel, his friend and colleague, had tried to keep the relationship secret. Now the Dean was asking questions, placing Jeremy in a hell of a bind.
Over the course of his career in the United States and now in Toronto, he’d seen too many bright and promising graduate students become the playthings of their professors. His wife, for example, had been a graduate student in linguistics at Columbia University, only to have her career ruined by her professor/lover after she tired of his alcoholism. It had taken years for Danielle’s wounds to heal, and even now she would have nothing to do with academia. Jeremy didn’t want to see Julianne’s career come to a similar end.
On the other hand, he would not allow the rising star of his faculty to be slandered and vilified for an infraction he hadn’t committed. If the Dean investigated Professor Emerson and Miss Mitchell further, Jeremy would do his damnedest to ensure that justice was served. Failing that, he was determined to ensure that his department was protected. Which is why he was horrified to find copies of letters addressed to Professor Emerson and Miss Mitchell with his daily mail on the first Thursday in March.
Muttering expletives, he glanced at the contents quickly before making a discreet call to one of his contacts in the Dean’s office. Half an hour later, he was placing a call to Professor Emerson’s home.
“Have you checked your snail mail today?”
Gabriel frowned. “No. Why?”
“Because I have a letter from the Dean indicating that you and Julianne are being investigated for engaging in an inappropriate relationship while she was your student.”
“Fuck,” said Gabriel.
“Exactly. Are you sitting down?”
“No.”
“Well, take a seat. I just got off the phone with a friend who works in the Dean’s office. Julianne has filed a harassment complaint against Christa Peterson, pursuant to the allegations against her. In retaliation, Christa has threatened the university with a lawsuit over the fact that Julianne received preferential treatment because she slept with you. Christa’s allegations are now part of the investigation into you and Julianne.”
“That’s preposterous!”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is. It’s ridiculous.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Gabriel, because the university takes complaints like this very seriously. The Provost’s office has ordered the Dean and two others to form a committee and investigate the allegations. You and Julianne are being summoned to appear before them, together.”
Gabriel cursed. “Who else is on the committee?”
“My contact wouldn’t tell me. The good news is that the meeting is only an investigatory hearing. Depending upon how the hearing officers decide the matter, it could be referred to the Provost’s Office for charges to be laid, and then the two of you would have to appear before a disciplinary tribunal. I don’t need to explain to you how deep the shit would be at that point.”
“Why doesn’t the Dean simply meet with me? All of this could be laid to rest in a few minutes.”
“I doubt that. Allegations and complaints are piling up and you’re at the center of all of them.”
Gabriel’s heart almost stopped. “You think there are more allegations forthcoming?”
“I have my suspicions. But nothing has been confirmed.”
“Shit,” said Gabriel, rubbing his eyes roughly. “Just how much trouble are we in?”
“If I were you, I’d stop thinking as a we and focus on I. That’s what got you into this mes
s in the first place.”
“Just answer the question, please.”
Jeremy paused, flipping through the letters on his desk. “Since there is some question about the integrity of your marking scheme with respect to Julianne, the Dean has suspended her grade in your seminar. That means that her transcript will be incomplete until the matter is resolved either with a dismissal or a tribunal and its outcome.”
“She won’t graduate,” Gabriel whispered.
“It’s University policy to withhold a final grade until all academic infractions are dealt with.”
“So depending on how long this takes, she won’t be able to go to Harvard.”
“If the matter is settled in her favor, they’ll let the grade stand and backdate her graduation. But by that time, I would assume she’d lose her place at Harvard. Unless she can persuade them to defer her admission.”
“Her admission was conditional on the satisfactory completion of her MA. She can ask, but I don’t think she’s in a position to ask for a deferral. And if Harvard catches wind of this, they might withdraw their offer.”
“Then she’d better pray this matter is settled in time for her to apply to graduate. And frankly, so should you. If you’re found guilty of academic fraud, the Provost can strip you of your tenure.”
“Fuck.” Gabriel slammed his hand down on his desk. “When will we have to appear before the committee?”
“Thursday, March twenty-fifth.”
“That leaves them less than a month to sort everything out before she needs to apply for graduation.”
“Academic procedures move at a glacial pace. You know that.” He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you the slightest bit worried about your predicament?”
“Not particularly,” Gabriel growled.
“Well, you should be. And what’s more, my primary concern is you, although I would be sorry to see Julianne’s academic future threatened.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“And I’m not about to let one of my star professors be hung out to dry.” Jeremy heaved a deep breath. “Under the policy you’re suspected of violating, you bear more responsibility than her. You’re under suspicion of evaluating a student with reference to a criterion that has nothing to do with academic merit.”
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