“Shall we get down to business?” His commanding voice interrupts my thoughts as he moves gracefully back to his seat.
“Yes, of course.” I settle into my chair and try to compose myself as I gaze at him behind the enormous desk. He seems twenty miles away.
“You have an interesting accent. Not a Boston native, I assume?” He’s making small talk, but his voice is startlingly dry. I notice he has a slight accent as well that is definitely not East Coast. I’ll go out on a limb and guess Italian.
“I’m from England originally; however, I’ve lived in Boston for many years now.”
“What brought you here?”
I wonder why he cares, but answer anyway. “I wanted the experience of living and working in America.”
“You didn’t answer me entirely. Why Boston?”
“My, um, my brother lives here.”
“Ah, yes,” he says, looking down at some papers. “The esteemed Dr. Harper. Your parents live in England still?”
“They do. London.” I offer the extra information to answer him completely this time. When are we going to get to the interview questions? I spent hours thinking of answers to every possible question about my experience and abilities. I pray he asks me some of them.
“Is that where you get your name?” he asks.
“Yes, it is. I was, um, conceived there on holiday.” I cringe as I offer this nugget of overly personal information. “We’re from Essex,” I add quickly. “My parents only moved to London a few years back.” I find myself becoming just a bit impatient with his questions, but I know I need to humor him. This man is the key to my future.
“I thought only Americans and celebrities named their children after cities,” he says, dryly.
“My grandfather on my mum’s side is American and my parents are fascinated by American culture.” He doesn’t need to know the endless taunting I received by my schoolmates for my parents’ naming whimsy.
“Culture? Yes, well, we do have that.” He sighs, looking irritated for a moment before continuing. “Alright then. Why do you want to work here? And please, don’t rattle off a bunch of crap about Harvard. I’ve heard it all. Tell me something original.”
Something original? I studied Harvard’s history for two days so I could impress him with everything I knew. Now, he wants original. Bloody hell.
The professor stares at me, waiting for my response. After a moment, he begins to tap his fingers on the desk again, one by one. I gaze up at him, watching as his thumb starts, then the index finger, and so on to his pinky, then back again. Suddenly, he stops.
“Are you going to answer me, Miss Harper?”
“Um, yes, of course. I really like languages. I have a double master’s degree and speak five of them fluently. I can—”
“I read your résumé,” he interrupts. “I said original. Everyone in this pile speaks many languages. Everyone has a graduate degree or two.” He pats a stack of papers on his desk. “You won’t have a need to utilize your linguistic abilities in this role. What can you do for me that the other fifty applicants cannot? What makes you special, Miss Harper?”
Special? I’m not special at all. Frantic thoughts swirl through my mind. This is not going well and I need to somehow salvage what’s left of this interview before he boots me out on my arse.
“I want this job very much. I’ve worked really hard for years in order to earn my qualifications to work for you, Professor. No one else. I have been quite deliberate in my intention. I doubt that anyone in that stack has done that or wants this job as much as I do.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I don’t have much working experience, but whatever you want me to do, I can learn.”
“Why do you want to work for me, specifically?”
This probably wouldn’t be a good time to tell him that I picked him because it’s a well-known fact that if you can work with this professor, you can do anything. Word is he’s terribly difficult to please and goes through assistants as quickly as I change knickers. I know that he has so much influence in my field it can only help me. I decide a bit of kissing up is in order.
“I want to learn from the best in the field of my studies.” Not entirely untrue. “And the posting did say there would be some work using my Italian skills.”
Professor Di Roma leans back in his chair, only the hint of a smile across his lips. “What are your long term goals, Miss Harper?”
This was the one question I wish he didn’t ask me. Throughout my entire life, my parents and brother have been pushing me to teach. It’s the primary reason I’m sitting here begging for a job from Professor Overbearing. The trouble is that I know deep inside teaching is not my passion. For now, I have to come up with some believable answer for the professor.
“I may pursue teaching one day, sir,” I say meekly, and I’m positive, unconvincingly.
The professor leans forward across his desk and stares at me, cocking his head slightly. The intensity of his gaze makes me uneasy, as if he’s daring me to say something else. I avert my eyes and instead focus on his lips, silently begging them to open and utter words that will prompt me to say something intelligent.
“I don’t believe you,” he says finally and then leans back again in his chair.
Flustered once again, I realize that he can see right through me. I have no idea what to say next so I stare at my hands, folded in my lap.
“Look at me.”
I look up nervously and wait for what’s next.
“Maybe you aren’t sure what you want to do with your life yet, but you need a path. Everyone needs direction. Perhaps I can assist you with finding one.”
I nod my head, thankful he didn’t ask me another question. We sit silently for a moment before I decide to break the silence.
I catch myself chewing my bottom lip and stop before I speak. “May I ask a question of you, Professor?”
“You may.”
“What are your expectations of an assistant?”
“That’s a very good question. The list is long, but at a minimum, I expect you to be prompt, early in fact. I want you to anticipate my needs and fill them before I’ve asked. I demand that I never miss anything important and I am always made aware of anything happening in the department, no matter how trivial it may seem. This is not an easy job and many have failed. Are you still up for the challenge?”
I nod my head. “Yes. You haven’t scared me off just yet.”
Professor Di Roma’s lips crease into a bit of a smirk. “Not yet, anyway.” He stands and walks towards me, leaning his body against his desk. He’s very tall, I’d guess about 6’3” perhaps, which only makes his presence that much more imposing. I’m a bit startled by his closeness to me again and his seemingly casual stance. I would have to crane my neck to see his face so I sit motionless, scared to move.
“You can start Monday.”
My eyes shoot wide open. I got the job?
“Be here promptly at 8:15 or don’t bother. Clear?” he continues.
“Very.”
“Good. Human Resources will call you with the details.” He walks across the office to his door. “You may go.”
Oh! I jump up from my chair. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We’ll see if you can last until winter break with me.”
I gather my things and quickly leave the office. Looking back, I watch the door close and wonder if I really know what I just got myself into. Intimidating doesn’t even begin to describe that man.
Back outside, I decide to phone my brother to see if he’s available. As busy as he is, he usually finds time for his baby sister. I dial his number.
“Ciao, little sis.” Devon’s buoyant voice comes through the line, using the quirky habit of greeting me in Italian. He’s done it ever since I declared my major and it always makes me smile. “Are you on campus?”
“I am. Just left Professor Di Roma’s office. You weren’t joking when you said he was a difficult man, were you?”
“Did he mistreat you?” My brother’s voice turns suddenly serious. I know he promised my parents he would look after me when I moved to America. He worries that the professor is just too much for me to handle, but I’m not as delicate as he thinks I am.
“No, not at all. I mean he certainly didn’t make me a cup of tea, but he did give me the job.”
“You got the job? That’s bloody fantastic!”
I let out a giggle. “Yes! Can you believe it? I thought I blew the whole thing, but I was just honest and he hired me.” I lean up against a tree. “I’m really chuffed.”
“He’d be a fool not to hire you. Now we can have a lunch or two together.”
“I’d like that. Do you have time now? I told Madeleine I would pick up a sandwich for her.”
“I wish I did. I have a research paper I need to submit to the journal in a few days and I’m nowhere near finished. What do you say I take you and Maddie out for dinner tonight to celebrate? We’ll go to the North End and get some Italian.”
“I would love that,” I say, knowing Madeleine will love it even more. She has a mad crush on Devon that everyone knows about, except him.
“Right then. Be safe getting home. I’ll be round about seven, yeah?”
“Okay, bye, Dev.”
I hang up with my brother and walk through the nearly empty courtyard. Approaching the restaurant, I find it’s closed for renovations for another two weeks. Looking down at my watch, I have about thirty minutes before the next train. I meander through Harvard Square, taking in my surroundings and feeling my excitement build. In a little less than a week, I’ll be here every day. I just hope I can live up to the professor’s expectations.
Checking the time again, I start to head back towards the train station. I decide to stop at a sandwich shop closer to home and pick up lunch for both of us. After a week of nothing but eggs, meat, and cheese, Madeleine is likely starved for a piece of bread.
Settling into my seat on the train, I use the twenty-minute ride to jot down my experience today in my boodle- my childhood name for my journal. One thing is obvious: the professor can smell fear. I tap my pen on my chin, thinking of the perfect words to sum it up. Finally, I write-
Note to self: Keep calm and impress Professor Overbearing.
I giggle to myself as I put the journal away.
BREATHING A SIGH OF RELIEF, I stare out into the courtyard. With only a few weeks to spare, I finally found a reasonably competent assistant. God, I hope this one works out. I am so sick of the interview process. I have a good feeling about this girl, though. She had a spark in her that I haven’t seen in many candidates. A little skittish, perhaps, but I can work on that with her.
Another school year starts soon. I value the long days spent at Harvard. They break up the overwhelming silence and misery of my existence. In just a few months, I will have to face the anniversary of the worst day of my life. Unlike what I have been told, it doesn’t get easier with time. When I close my eyes, the horror of that day is there as real as the windowpane I’m touching. When I sleep, I see her face. Her beautiful, youthful face smiling at me, waiting for me to touch her cheek. I reach out to hold her, to kiss her, but she is gone. Forever.
Shaking my head, I bring myself back to the present. This is my reality. A world where my work keeps me sane. If only just.
I turn back to my desk and sit down to start my first syllabus. I start writing, thankful at least to have something in my life that gets my heart beating. I enjoy these types of tasks, planning my lessons, writing my lectures, but I need to get some things off my plate. Teaching a few classes and running the department is too much, even for me. If I can get an assistant to last long enough, I can teach them how to do this for me. A knock at the door gets my attention.
“Come in.”
“Hey, there!” My friend Angela greets me as she enters the room.
Removing my glasses, I smile at her. She has always been kind to me. “Please sit,” I say, motioning to the chair in front of my desk.
“How are you?” she asks as she takes a seat.
“I’m well. You?”
“Very well. I saw another applicant leave. How did it go?”
“I hired her.”
She claps her hands. “Bravo, Professore. You think this one is good?”
“I do hope so. I would like to build a relationship with someone I can mentor. I know I am not the easiest man to work for, but surely there is someone I am compatible with.”
“Surely,” Angela says, laughing. She flips her long, gray hair off her shoulder and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. I bet she was a beauty thirty years ago in her youth. “I got lucky with my teaching assistant. Ella’s a hard worker and we get along. Although she can be a bit gossipy sometimes.”
“Yes, you are lucky, but you’re also infinitely easier to deal with than me. This is my, hmmm,” I tap my chin. “Tenth assistant, I believe. Janet was good, but then she selfishly decided to have a second baby and stay home. I tried everything to get her to stay, but in the end she chose her family.”
Angela looks at me, shocked, before I start to laugh. “I’m kidding. She did the right thing for her.”
Angela laughs too. “Have you ever tried a male assistant?”
“I did once. Jeremy was his name. I thought it would work, but ultimately I think he was more interested in dating co-eds and puffing his chest at me than working. I have no time or interest in pissing matches with twenty-six year olds.”
“Oh dear!” She laughs. “You’ll get it right. Maybe you already did. She looked awfully young, though.”
“I don’t know how old she is, but she has a double master’s degree in Italian and International languages. She speaks Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and English, of course.”
“She must be very smart.”
“She seems to be. Oh, and she is from England.”
“Lovely.” Standing up, she pats my desk. “I hope for your sake, she works out. Try to be a bit easier on this one, at least at first, huh?”
“I will try, but as you know I don’t have time to hand hold. I need someone capable of hitting the ground running.”
“I know.” Angela crosses her arms over her chest. “Have you considered reducing your teaching schedule? It’s so much to keep up with that and your department duties.”
“It is, but again if I can get an assistant on board it should be easier. Besides, I could not breathe if I stopped teaching. As it is, I’ve dropped down to only two classes.”
“The students are lucky and you are masterful at it.” She gives me a motherly smile and starts towards the door. “Oh, my husband is planning to make a trip up here next week for dinner. It’s quite the occasion!” She laughs.
“Cambridge is a distance from Gloucester.”
“It is and a whole new world for him. Join us?”
“I’d love to. Let me know when.”
“Great. See you soon.”
“Yes.”
Angela leaves and I get back to my work. Before long, I know I will have to leave and make myself go home. If that is what one can call it. It’s a place where I keep my things, where I sleep at night, and where I get some work done. But home? Home left when she did.
The hours pass and I contemplate what I will have for dinner. I should invite someone over. Company keeps the emptiness at bay for a while. Maybe Jake and Priscilla want to come hang out. I pick up my phone to text my former roommate.
I am relieved when he responds that they will be by at seven. I plan a quick menu I can throw together and start to close down the day. Those two always have a way of lifting my spirits. Maybe someday I will put my guard down enough to tell them about the beautiful ghost who haunts my dreams.
Maybe.
AT MY STOP, I hop off the T and jog up the stairs, pulling off my cardigan once again. As I walk through the streets, I notice all the women walking by me in their smart outfits and stylish accessories. Oh, how I wish I h
ad what it took to pull off something like that. Nothing makes me feel frumpier and more out of place than this particular area of Boston. I’m surrounded by fashionable shops, trendy eateries, and young, ambitious Bostonians. The neighborhood perfectly balances Boston’s rich history with modern amenities. Every street is lined with expensive brownstones. My shoes clank over cobbled side streets as I stroll. I love it here even if I do feel like I don’t belong.
I recall the trip when my parents chose this area. In order to allow me to move out here, they demanded I live in the absolute best part of Boston their money could afford, and at the time, it was near my brother. There would be no struggling to the pay the rent for me. I bristled from their insistence to purchase this flat for me, but at the end of the day, I’m really quite thankful for it. Not having to get a job all this time allowed me to study and participate in research internships that eventually helped me secure the interview I had today. Even though the position is a blend of responsibilities, I hope I’ll be able to apply my experience at some point.
Madeleine, of course, had no trouble whatsoever accepting my parent’s generosity. She never did. She grew up posh so she downright expects to live that way. Even though her own parents are quite well off and entrusted her with a large amount of money to live off, she insisted on following me to America and rooming with me. Good thing, since she can’t hold a job. Without Madeline, though, what small amount of social life I have would be nonexistent. She’s definitely the party girl out of the two of us. Not that I don’t want to have fun. It’s just that, well, I’m not quite sure how to.
I stop at the nearby sandwich shop and select one for each of us. I get a meatball sandwich for Madeleine and I order a Reuben for myself, extra sauerkraut. I can’t resist the smell of the freshly fried potatoes, what the Americans call French Fries. I remember when I first arrived and ordered chips only to receive the crunchy potato discs we call crisps. I would get the strangest looks as I tried to explain what I meant. I smile to myself, thinking of how many differences a seemingly similar language has. As my thoughts drift, the aroma of the sizzling potatoes catches my nose once more. I know Maddie said no chips, but the allure is just too strong. I get two orders of them, as well. It’s a bit of a celebration so why not.
Londyn Falls Page 2
