After I finished with the invoices—signing them and checking their amounts against the spreadsheets—I glanced at my webmail account, still open on the browser.
I had a new message. Marisue Pickard had replied to my e-mail.
Charlie! Great hearing from you. Of course Randi and I would love to have dinner with you. Lots of things to catch up about, and we want to hear all about that cat of yours. He sounds adorable. A friend of mine has a Maine Coon, and she’s the sweetest thing. How about dinner on Friday night? That should work for both of us. Love, Marisue
Two smiley face icons followed her name.
Another e-mail, again from Marisue, appeared in my inbox.
Re: the matter of GF, why would you even want to think about that creep? Keep your mind clean. Randi and I have a few things we could tell you. Maybe, with enough wine at dinner, we will.
That was intriguing, I thought. There was obviously dirt, and I didn’t think I’d have to ply Marisue and Randi with much wine before they started dishing on Gavin Fong.
I shut down the browser and checked my work e-mail.
Three new messages, and one of them came from Gavin Fong. Why on earth was he e-mailing me? Probably something to do with the job, I supposed.
I made a face at the screen and clicked on his message to open it.
Dear Charlie, been a long time, hasn’t it? Easy to forget certain things after all these years, but yet, some things do tend to stick with you. I have absolutely clear memories of you and our interactions—one in particular. We’ll have to chat about it when I arrive in Athena. I’m coming in early to have a look around your campus. I’ll drop by your office—which I hope will soon be my office. I’m ready to get out of this hick town to a school with the kind of reputation Athena College has. I’m sure I can count on your support, right? You certainly wouldn’t want to derail my chances, I’m sure. Especially once we’ve had a chance to discuss old times, eh?
The message ended with the standard professional institutional signature.
Fong’s message both irritated and confused me. I wasn’t surprised by the sheer gall of his words. They were pure Gavin Fong. His assumption that I would support his candidacy for the position was ludicrous. As for talking over old times, I couldn’t remember any that he and I had shared that were worth discussing.
What the heck was he hinting at? His e-mail could be interpreted as blackmail. Or was it extortion? But what could he possibly have to use as ammunition to force me to support him for this job?
I mulled this over for a few minutes, thinking back to the events of over twenty-five years ago. I had tried to keep out of his way as much as possible, because in those days I hadn’t yet learned to manage my temper effectively. My late wife, Jackie, whom I married right after graduation from Athena College, helped me learn to hold back and not pop off without thinking about what I was saying or doing.
Jackie . . . I frowned. Something about Jackie, me, and Gavin Fong. What was it?
Then the memory came flooding back, and I felt my stomach twist into a knot.
FOUR
I hated recalling the stupid things I did in my youth because of my quick temper. I prided myself on the fact that I had matured enough to master my feelings before I turned thirty. I still got angry on occasion, as did most human beings. The difference was, I could keep that anger from erupting into intemperate speech or action—almost all the time.
In my early twenties, however, I had not yet learned the lessons I needed to learn. The incident with Gavin Fong gave me one of those lessons, and my stomach knotted with embarrassment from simply recalling what happened.
While I worked on my master’s degree in library science, my wife, Jackie, worked on a master’s degree in history part-time. She taught as a substitute in the local public school system to help offset expenses not covered by our savings, student loans, and my own part-time job at the university library. I spent every day on campus while Jackie attended classes twice a week. On the days she came to campus, we lunched together.
The incident with Gavin Fong occurred on one such day. I was running late that day, and by the time I reached the student union where we met, I found Jackie in conversation with Gavin Fong. He had pestered her with his attentions before, but in the past I had been able to laugh it off. I knew Jackie found him amusing, in a creepy sort of way, and he posed no threat to our marriage. That day, as I approached the table in the crowded room, I saw him put his hand on her arm and pull her toward him. She tried to jerk her arm away, but he held on.
I already disliked Gavin Fong intensely for his pseudo-intellectual superiority and his rude comments about our professors and their intelligence. I had managed to keep my hands to myself on those occasions. That day, however, I felt no such restraint.
In my memories of the incident, a roaring in my head blocked out other sounds. I don’t think I’d ever been so angry in my life. I dimly remembered dropping my lunch bag and briefcase on the table before I grabbed Gavin Fong by his hair and jerked him away from my wife.
He screamed and let go as he found himself stumbling backward into the next table. Before he could recover, I had my face in his. I think I said to him, If I ever catch you near my wife again, I’ll beat you into a bloody pulp. Or some similar macho threat.
Several of the young women seated nearby clapped, and one of them poured a cold drink over Gavin’s head. He sputtered as the liquid and ice hit him, and then he yelped when he slipped and landed hard on his rear.
I stood over him and glowered. He looked up at me with loathing—and fear. He never said a word in response. He got up, shot me the bird, and walked away.
After that he never came near Jackie, and he steered a wide berth around me. Jackie scolded me later for overreacting, but I wasn’t repentant at the time. I knew she tried her best to stop him, but he was too aggressive. My temper took over, and I let it. I felt embarrassed later on by my own aggression and violent behavior. I could have handled the situation more calmly, but I didn’t. Lesson learned, however.
I wondered what Gavin thought he had to gain by threatening to reveal this incident to Forrest Wyatt and members of the search committee if I didn’t recommend him for the job. Did he seriously think I would let that stop me from giving my honest opinion of him?
If he did think that, then he would be deeply disappointed. The incident didn’t reflect well on either of us, but I wouldn’t shy away from telling my side of the story. I certainly ought to have more credibility with the search committee, most of whom I had known for some years, than a rank outsider like Gavin Fong could.
I was tempted to reply to Gavin’s e-mail with two words. The first word would be a verb in the imperative—and not a nice verb—followed by the word you. That was my temper’s idea. I knew better though I was itching to do it. He brought out the worst in me.
My response to Gavin could wait. I looked at the other two messages that arrived along with his. One of them was from Randi Grant, and I clicked on it.
Charlie my darling, how the heck are you? Marisue and I are delighted that we’ll be seeing you soon. It’s been way too long. Dinner would be great. You’d better know a fabulous restaurant, one with a superb wine list. You know the two of us love us some wine.
Now, about that waste of space otherwise known as Gavin Fong, I will have plenty to say. In person, though, not in an e-mail. Au revoir, cher Charlie!
I couldn’t help but grin while I read Randi’s message. I could hear her voice in my head. I couldn’t wait to see her and Marisue again—and not because they had dirt on Gavin.
The other e-mail came from a researcher in Louisiana who wanted to come to the archive to delve into the personal papers of several Athena families prominent during the antebellum and post–Civil War years. He gave two sets of dates when he could make the trip and asked if I could accommodate the request.
The dates were for
two-week stretches, one in early July, the other in early August. While I served as interim library director the archives were closed. I had no staff member to spare to open the archives for scholars. I had three vacant positions that were on hold until a new director was hired, and those openings left two areas understaffed. The proposed dates were three to four months away, however, and by then I could be back at my desk upstairs. I knew Forrest Wyatt wanted a permanent director in place before the beginning of the fall semester, but if I got the job, the archives position would have to be filled.
I hated to deny the researcher. I was familiar with the collections he wanted to examine, and I knew they were both rich with details of local history and daily life in Athena for a period of over sixty years. After mulling it over a few minutes, I wrote back to the man that the August dates would be best. Somehow I would see that he had the access he needed, no matter what happened with the director’s job. Laura’s baby would be close to two months old by then, and she and Frank would probably be in Virginia.
Depressed by that thought, I leaned back in the chair and stared at the window across the room. I had been able to avoid thinking about Laura and Frank leaving Athena for a while, but now I could think of nothing else. Had Laura discussed this with Sean before she told me? Most likely she had, because she and her brother were close and always had been, even during the difficult teenage years. I knew Sean would hate to see her move, even though he would have more than enough to occupy his thoughts with the impending birth of his own child later in the fall.
Six years ago I thought I had lost my daughter to Hollywood forever. A talented actress, she left to find her future in California at twenty-two. The first couple of years brought little success, but a small guest part in a long-running drama gave her the foothold she needed. The jobs turned up more frequently, and she had a respectable body of work by the time she came back to Athena some eighteen months ago for a one-semester teaching gig. After meeting Frank Salisbury, a young assistant professor in the theater department, and then getting married, Laura had decided to stay in Athena. The lure of Hollywood stardom, so difficult to achieve for even the most talented, took second place to a new husband and a new career.
I had never really considered the idea that they might leave. Both she and Frank seemed content at Athena College. But circumstances changed, as did career paths. Faced with a tempting offer, Frank had every right to accept it. Taking Laura and my grandson with him.
My gaze dropped to the nearby chair where Diesel napped. As if he sensed my focus on him, he opened his eyes, blinked, and yawned. Then he stretched, his front legs extended off the seat of the chair that was barely large enough to contain him when he curled up. He offered me a couple of interrogatory chirps and a meow, and I smiled at him. He slipped down from the chair and padded over to me. He climbed into my lap and butted his head against my chin. I stroked his head and murmured to him what a sweet boy he was. He meowed again and butted my chin when I stopped my attentions to his head. I resumed, and he began to purr, that loud, rumbling sound that had earned him his name.
I realized I couldn’t allow myself to wallow in self-pity over my daughter’s possible move to another state. No good would come of it, and I had more than enough to do to keep up with the demands of the interim director job. I gave Diesel a last few strokes on his head, then informed him gently that I needed to get back to work.
He meowed once in seeming protest, but he climbed down from my lap and headed to the nearby closet where I had installed a litter box and food and drink bowls for him. I heard him lapping water as I turned my attention back to my desk and the work that awaited me.
My phone rang, and I picked up the handset. “Yes?”
Melba said, “I’ve got Lisa Krause on line one. She needs to speak with you for a minute.”
“Sure.” I punched the button. “Hi, Lisa. What’s up?”
“Charlie, I hate to do this, but I got an e-mail a few minutes ago from one of the out-of-state librarians who was going to be moderating one of the panel discussions. She’s had a family emergency and can’t come. Could you possibly take over for her? I can brief you on the panel and the participants later. It’s on Saturday morning.”
I had no desire to participate in a panel discussion, even as a moderator, but I could hear the tiredness and the frustration in Lisa’s voice.
“I’ll be happy to do it for you,” I said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. The panel’s on cataloging in the academic library, so I think you’ll find it interesting. I can come by later this afternoon, if that’s convenient.”
“Sure. I’ll be in the office until five or five thirty.”
Lisa thanked me again, and I ended the call.
A panel on cataloging ought to be interesting, I thought. I delved among the papers on my desk to look at the details of the session. Saturday morning, Lisa had said. I flipped a couple of pages, and there it was. The title of the session was Cataloging for the Digital World: Absolute Necessity or Waste of Time?
I frowned. I didn’t care for the title. I considered cataloging still a vital part of the digital world. The discussion ought to prove lively, I figured. I wondered who might be arguing that it was a waste of time.
My gaze lighted on the list of participants. I dropped the schedule on my desk and closed my eyes. Gavin Fong was one of the panel members.
FIVE
Two afternoons later, I stood on the dais of the Farrington House ballroom with Lisa Krause waiting for Forrest Wyatt to arrive. The conference started in five minutes, and Forrest had a welcome speech to deliver. If he didn’t show, I imagined I would have to fill in, and I hadn’t prepared for such a situation. I had my two minutes and nothing more.
“I’m sure he’ll be here,” Lisa said in an undertone. “His administrative assistant assured me that she would let me know immediately if something came up and he couldn’t get here.”
“He’s cutting it too close for my comfort.” I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. My collar felt tight, and I fiddled with my tie. Should I loosen it before I had to speak? Or would I look sloppy if I did that?
I had a horror of appearing unkempt in front of a crowd like this, even in these days of increasing informality of dress no matter the occasion. My parents had been unfailingly particular in their dress for any kind of public event, and that habit was too ingrained for me to ignore it. So I stood on the dais in my best suit and tie, shoes freshly polished, and hair cut the day before. I knew I must look presentable because Lisa complimented me when I found her several minutes ago, waiting to mount the dais.
“Relax, Charlie, here he comes.” Lisa nodded toward the center aisle of chairs that occupied much of the ballroom floor.
Tall, thin, dark of hair, and tanned of skin, Forrest Wyatt looked every inch the successful executive he was. He had been at the helm of Athena College for nearly two years, and he seemed to have a magic touch with potential donors. The endowment was growing, and alumni and board alike were happy with his leadership.
He greeted Lisa and me with an affable smile. “I’m always worried I’ll forget at the last minute, right before I start talking, exactly who the audience is and give the wrong speech.” His eyes twinkled, and Lisa and I chuckled in response. He checked his watch and glanced at Lisa. She nodded, then stepped to the podium.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.” Lisa paused to let her gaze sweep the room. “I am Lisa Krause, head of access services at the Athena College Library and chair of the local arrangements committee for this meeting. It is my great pleasure to introduce the president of the college, Dr. Forrest Wyatt, who is here to offer you an official greeting.” She briefly listed Forrest’s academic credentials and past experiences, then stepped aside.
Forrest moved to the podium. After thanking Lisa for the introduction, he faced the audience. “We at Athena C
ollege are delighted to welcome the Southern Academic Library Association Annual Conference back to Athena. Libraries are an integral part of any institution of higher learning, and over the next few days I know you will be discussing the exciting changes and trends in academic libraries.”
He continued in this vein for about five minutes more, and his talk evinced more knowledge of those exciting changes and trends in academic libraries than I realized he possessed. I hadn’t briefed him, and thus I was duly impressed by his comments.
His welcome complete, he said, “It is now my pleasure to introduce the interim director of the Athena College Library, Mr. Charles Harris. Mr. Harris has recently been guiding the library ably through a period of transition, and we are fortunate to have a man of his experience and knowledge serving in this capacity.”
I imagined that many in the audience were well aware of the events that led up to the period of transition, and, ever the diplomat, Forrest put the best spin possible on it.
Suddenly I realized Forrest had stepped back from the podium, and I stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you, President Wyatt, for those kind remarks. On behalf of the faculty and staff of the Athena College Library, I am delighted to welcome you all to the elegant, historical Farrington House. I know Ms. Krause and her committee have worked hard to make this a successful event. We have an exciting slate of presentations and panel discussions ahead of us, and I trust we will all come away from the conference energized by fresh ideas and new connections. We hope you will find time to visit our beautiful campus and the library.” I smiled and stepped away from the microphone.
I made it through the short speech without stumbling, even as I gazed out at the blur of faces, some two hundred twenty-odd of them. Lisa murmured, “Well done, Charlie,” and took my place at the microphone. She made a couple of announcements, and we were done.
Twelve Angry Librarians Page 3
