I doubt that he knew the library was going to burn down, Fred wanted to say; but of course he couldn’t, not with Peggy there.
“It’s important to be prepared for every possible contingency,” Mr. Singleton lectured, as if reading Fred’s mind. “If that had been the case, the school would be receiving these funds in a few weeks from now at the most.”
That was all Fred could take, he was about to burst. He cut the lawyer off; if Peggy weren’t there, he’d be standing up and yelling into the phone at this pompous twerp. He’d be quoting Milton Perkins on lawyers. “Thank you, Mr. Singleton,” he said instead, “keep me informed,” and hung up abruptly.
“You okay?” Peggy asked.
“Yeah,” he said, and she knew whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it.
“So where were we?” he asked.
“Later,” she said, starting to stand. “You’ve got something heavy to deal with, I can tell.”
He waved her back down. “It can wait a few minutes.”
And then it dawned on her. How could it have taken her so long to guess? She’d seen how his face had fallen. “I think I know what you just learned,” she murmured, and Fred moved his hand in front of his face in that dismissive gesture that she knew drove Francis crazy, letting her know that she had guessed right and that he was not going to talk about it. He had never really counted on the gift coming through anyway, he told himself. Always felt a little dishonest for pretending that he thought it would. It was just a teaser, a promised rescue waved in front of our eyes to make us happy for a few short months, and then yanked away, he thought. Yet, God, he was disappointed!
Besides, he was determined not to put Peggy off. She was going to grieve even more when she found out that the library’s burning down was what delayed, maybe even canceled forever, the gift that would have saved the school “Peg, I’m going to be honest with you,” he told her, changing his mind about gentling her. The time to be assertive was now, it was the kindest way. “We’re not going to base our decision on which architect we pick—”
“You don’t have to tell me you’re going to be honest. You could never be anything else.”
Now she was worried she was going to cry. But not in front of him, she wouldn’t do that to him. She hated it when women used tears for leverage. “I’m out of here,” she said. “You’ve got enough on your plate.” She fled through Margaret’s office and went straight to her apartment. She needed to be alone to think.
Maybe it was the shock of learning there wasn’t going to be any two million dollars to save the school that kept her from seeing that she was acting just like Francis. Her emotions were all a jumble. She didn’t want things to change. It wasn’t only nostalgia for her library that made her want to beg Fred Kindler to replicate it. When the library had been standing, she and Francis were together. How could she ask Fred to fix that?
One thing she was clear about: she wasn’t going to sit around waiting for something to happen to fix her marriage. She was going to do something, and do it soon.
AFTER LEAVING A message for Alan Travelers, Fred stepped out into Margaret Rice’s anteroom. “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he told her. “I need a little walk.”
“Have I guessed right what that lawyer fella told you?” she asked.
At first he thought she must be gloating. Then he knew she wasn’t. Despite the grudge she harbored, she wanted the same thing he did. “No comment,” he answered.
“Damn!” she said.
“Yes.” he said. “Damn.”
“Well, take a good walk. You deserve a break,” she said, to his surprise. “I’ll take care of Gregory until you get back,” she added, reminding him that he had an appointment—another one—with the head of the English Department. “Maybe while he waits for you he can explain to me why Moby Dick isn’t as boring as everybody but English teachers knows it is,” she said, surprising him even more with a hint of a smile.
After his short walk, while Gregory still waited in Margaret’s anteroom, Alan returned his call. It didn’t take long. Alan was not the type to spend time bemoaning events he couldn’t control. “I’ll call an emergency meeting of the board for the day after tomorrow in the afternoon,” he told Fred. “That will give us time to get as many members as possible together to decide what we should do, and we’ll do it in our New York offices. That’s the easiest place to gather trustees from around the country at such short notice.”
“Good,” Fred said.
“And Fred?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t tell you how glad I am that in times like these we have you to be the boss.”
“Thanks, Alan. I’ll have a recommendation ready for the meeting.”
“No, you won’t, Fred. Let us do that.”
“That makes me feel like a chicken, Alan.”
“So be a chicken. We need you around.”
“Well, I’ll think about that.”
“Don’t think about it. Just do it. It’s an order.”
Fred didn’t answer.
“And in the meantime, just hang in there, my friend,” Alan said. “Just keep going as if nothing’s happened. I know you will.” Then he hung up.
FRED STOOD UP as van Buren entered, but he didn’t come around his desk. The last thing he needed right then was to have to pretend he was interested in one of van Buren’s legion of worries. But hadn’t his board chair just reminded him that it was his job to keep on as if nothing’s happened?
Gregory van Buren sat in one of the chairs facing the desk. “Good morning,” he said, and drew breath for small talk.
“Good morning,” Fred responded, and glanced at his watch. Van Buren looked disappointed and let out his breath.
“Yes?” said Fred.
“I’ve come to report on Clarion affairs,” Van Buren told him. “As faculty advisor,” he added.
“And?”
“Thus to facilitate your decision.”
“My decision?”
“Yes. It won’t be difficult once you’ve heard what is in the article.”
“Which article?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“The head’s the last to hear certain things, Mr. van Buren,” Fred said. “But I can guess which article.” Well, here it is at last, he thought. He’d been waiting for this shoe to drop since his talk with Karen Benjamin in September.
“Karen Benjamin’s done research,” Van Buren told him. “Lots of it. She’s given every senior a questionnaire about sex. She’s written an article.”
“About sex?”
Van Buren made a face, a stagy gesture that irritated Fred. “How many are sexually active and how many are not.”
“Really?”
“It’s quite detailed, I’m afraid.”
“Really? Is it a good article?”
“Of course not! I think it’s disgusting!”
“Disgusting? You mean it’s pornographic? Explicit?”
“No, it’s not pornographic. It’s just not the kind of thing—”
“That should be in a school newspaper?”
“That’s right.” Van Buren was beginning to look confused.
“Especially a girls’ school.”
“Oh, yes, especially a girls’ school!” exclaimed van Buren, his face brightening.
“Well, then, tell her she can’t print it.”
Van Buren’s face went pale. “Me?”
“You’re the advisor to the Clarion, Mr. van Buren.” Fred was beginning to enjoy this.
“The headmistress, uh, Mrs. Boyd used—”
“To make all these decisions,” Fred finished van Buren’s sentence again.
Gregory van Buren nodded.
“Which you thought was kind of dictatorial, I believe. And you didn’t agree with her when she let the kids print this kind of thing, am I right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, I’m not a dictator, Mr. van Buren. I’m a delegator. You’ve told me, rather often, t
hat you like that about me. And you’re the advisor to the Clarion, and you don’t think that Karen should print the article. So here’s your chance.”
“But—”
Fred stood up. “Just do it,” he said. “Just tell her your decision. Make sure she knows it’s yours. And make it stick.” He put his hand on van Buren’s elbow, ushered him to the door.
He had to admit he felt a little better now.
GREGORY WENT STRAIGHT to the Clarion office to see Karen. He was so nervous he needed to get this over with.
Karen was sitting at her desk. She looked up at him when he entered the office. “Good morning,” she said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Her greeting sounded like a challenge to him. Moreover, she was sitting down at her desk in her office, while he was standing up, like a supplicant.
“Karen—” he began.
“Could you sit down please, Mr. van Buren? You make me nervous standing there.”
“Sit where?” Gregory huffed. “All these chairs have papers piled up in them.”
“How about that one?” Karen answered brightly, pointing to the chair nearest her desk. “Here,” she said, reaching for the papers Gregory had picked up from the chair. “Actually, you look nervous too.” She knew what he was there for, and she was going to make him pay!
He didn’t answer.
“I like it messy like this, don’t you?” Because she knew he was a stickler for neatness. “When things are messy it means people are busy.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Gregory finally spoke. “It just means they’re messy.”
Karen shrugged. “What can I do for you?”
He drew breath, started to answer; she cut him off. “How’d you like my article?”
Again, he didn’t answer
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s inappropriate.”
“But I asked whether you thought it was good or not.”
He hesitated. She wasn’t about to give him time to frame his answer. “You know it is,” she said, smiling. “It’s everything you taught. Well organized, great quotations, a subject everyone is interested in, everything substantiated—facts, figures.”
“Karen, you know very well it’s not appropriate. This is a school.”
“Just tell me, is it good or isn’t it?”
He nodded, started to speak.
“It tells the truth, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know whether it does or not,” Gregory hedged. “I don’t really want to know about the students’ sex lives.”
“That’s my point,” Karen said. “It does what good reporting does: tells the people who want to keep on not knowing what they need to know about what the people who are written about already know.”
Gregory hesitated again, taking in her comment as he did in his class when somebody made an interesting point. “All right,” he finally conceded. “You’ve won that point.”
“It’s a model, isn’t it? If it were for a magazine, not a school newspaper—”
“Yes, it’s very good.”
“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to hear. From you. If you told me it wasn’t good, I’d write it over. Anybody else, and I’d tell him he’s wrong.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ve told you. It’s very good.”
“And you’re here to tell me the headmaster says I can’t print it.”
“No, Karen, not the headmaster.”
“It’s not surprising.”
“You didn’t hear me, Karen. I’m telling you.”
“No, you aren’t,” she said. Her voice was neutral. There was no anger in it; she was just telling a fact. “You’re not telling me. Because he told you to tell me.”
Gregory looked stunned, as if he’d been slapped in the face. “How do you know?” he challenged.
“Hey!” she said. “Big Momma’s gone. The new guy wants everybody to grow up. And you tried just now. But it was too late, wasn’t it? Because you’d already gone to him.” She could see by his expression that she’d guessed right.
“You’re being insolent,” Gregory warned.
“If I were the advisor to the Clarion and some kid wanted to print an article I didn’t think should be printed, I wouldn’t go to the boss about it first,” Karen said. “I wouldn’t even tell him. I’d make my own decision.”
“You’re being very impolite,” Gregory repeated.
“Sorry. I didn’t plan to be impolite,” she said. “It’s just that it’s true, that’s all,” she added with a little apologetic shrug. She felt a small sadness taking the place of her resentment. It was not the first time this year that she’d had the sense she’d caught up with him, some of the other teachers too, ex-heroes. She didn’t need them anymore; it was time to graduate and say goodbye. “Really,” she said. “I apologize.”
“I accept,” Gregory answered, his best tactic at this point, and added, as if he were still in a position to dispense comfort, “I know it’s a disappointment not to print it.”
“Hey, forget it.”
There was a silence then they both found embarrassing, which he had the grace to end by standing and moving to the door. But at the door he turned back to her because he couldn’t resist. “You really ought to clean this mess up.”
“Okay, I will. And guess what?”
“What?”
“I could print it anyway, you know. Underground. Just Xerox it and hand it out.”
“I hope you won’t.”
“I won’t,” she said, remembering her conversation with her new headmaster about this issue, how straight he’d been with her, how clear and realistic. How authentic. “You can count on it. I won’t sneak.”
“A wise decision,” Gregory said as firmly as he could. “A very adult decision.” Then he left.
THAT NIGHT WHEN Julie snuck out, Clarissa didn’t bother to pretend to sleep, and Julie made only a little effort not to be seen as she ran across the campus to the spot where she expected Charley to be waiting for her in the Subaru. In the back of her mind, she knew she wanted to get caught so she’d be kicked out.
“We’re going to blitz tonight,” Charley had told her on the phone. “Party city!” Why was he talking that way? He’d never talked that way before. But he’d hung up the phone before she asked. It was not the party she cared about. It was the chance to talk with Charley, to be alone with her brother, for the half hour it took to get to Trinity.
Fifteen yards from the car she could tell even in the dark that it was Robin, not Charley. She walked the rest of the way and got in the car beside him.
“Hello. I thought you’d like a real date,” Robin said.
She knew he meant a date with a brother wasn’t real. It was a huge disappointment. He’s not my brother anymore, she wanted to protest. “Well, okay. Thanks,” she said instead. Robin seemed surprised by her halfhearted response, maybe even a little bit hurt. They had very little to say to each other on the way to the Trinity campus.
Inside the fraternity house, the room was crowded with dancers. The rock band was across the room from the door, playing so loud it was impossible to talk. There was a big, shiny aluminum beer keg in each corner of the room. Julie looked for Charley, couldn’t see him anywhere. Robin took her hand, and they squeezed further into the room and began to dance.
She liked moving to the rhythm. Her unhappiness lifted and flew away. It got hotter in the crowded space; bodies bumped into each other. “I smell weed,” she shouted at Robin. “Get me some.” But he shook his head. All right, she thought. I’ve got all night. She let herself go, swaying her hips, rolling her shoulders, waving her arms above her head. Opposite her, Robin was graceful for such a big guy, dancing just as hard as she was. But there was a serious look on his face, a frown in his forehead, as if he were concentrating to avoid mistakes, and suddenly she didn’t want to be with him anymore. She wanted to dance with someone uncaged and crazy. “I need a beer,” she yelled, but he shook his head. She danced further away from
him. She was dancing alone now. Or maybe she was dancing with everyone, she didn’t care which.
A few minutes later the band stopped to take a break, and she pushed her way through the crowd to one of the kegs. There was a puddle of beer at her feet. She didn’t like the smell of it. She filled a plastic cup and chugged it down, then filled it again and chugged that too.
“Careful,” she heard behind her and knew it was Robin. She ignored him, took another slug. She didn’t really like the taste any better than the smell. She’d just get a little loose so she could really dance.
She turned around. “Where’s Charley?”
“I don’t know,” Robin said. “Making out someplace, I guess.” He took the cup from her.
She reached for it. He moved his hand so she couldn’t get it. “You’re my date,” she said. “Not my father.” The band started up again, and she didn’t hear his answer. He took her hand, led her to the middle of the room, and they started to dance again.
While she danced she watched the front door. People kept coming through it, crowding the room even more, but none of them was Charley. It was hotter in the room now, and she danced even harder. Robin grabbed her hand, tried a fancy move, spun her around. He was frowning again. “You’re trying too hard,” she yelled over the music. “This isn’t a job.”
He spun her again and let go, and she pretended to think he wanted her to dance with someone else and moved away from him. Next thing she knew she was dancing with a boy who was half Robin’s size. He was short and pudgy, but his eyes sparkled and she liked his smile. He had black hair and a film of sweat on his face over acne scars and danced much better than Robin. He was in the zone, on the beat without thinking, and she moved with him. Some of the dancers nearest them stopped and watched. The crowd hooted and cheered, and, lost in the music, Julie was as happy as she’d been for weeks. When it stopped, the boy put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “Hey, hey, hey!” he said. “What a great dancer!” Their hips touched; she felt his sweat. Her own too, her blouse soaked through. “That was great!” the boy said and let her go, moving off.
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