Cool.
Another knock. Louder. I kick the door in an attempt to make whoever it is go away. I hope it’s not Layla. I’d hate to piss her off so early in the relationship.
I smile to myself. I can’t wait to be in NY. I get to spend the entire summer with Layla. I can’t get her out of my mind. I’m flying far and beyond cloud nine. Cloud nineteen. I can’t believe the woman of my dreams likes me. Everything happened so quickly and it’s so wonderful.
So wonderful-and scary. She’s somehow got it into her head that I’m her perfect match. I have to admit her tendency to idealize men and then knock them off their pedestals in one swift kick makes me nervous. Kimmy says that one of the reasons she broke up with Kermit was because his penis was too big. While that’s good news for my little friend, I didn’t know that was possible. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t slept with her yet. Not because she’ll think my penis is too small and dump me (although that is a concern), but because I want to make sure she’s really in love with me first. Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy putting her off Sunday night. But I want to take things slowly. I’m already so crazy about her-if we start having sex and then she dumps me, I’ll spiral into another depression.
“When can we expect you?” asks the movie man.
“My final exam is Thursday, April twenty-ninth. I can start work the following Monday.” A piece of paper ripped out of a notebook is shoved under my door. What is their problem? I pick up the paper and read: Huge problem. Come find me. Layla
I hurry off the phone and open the door. Kimmy is pacing up and down the hallway, her face streaked with tears. Frowning beside her, hands on hips, is Layla.
“What happened?” I ask, immediately hugging Kimmy.
Layla sighs. “She’s been accused of plagiarism.”
Come again?
Kimmy wipes her eyes. “Come into my room.” We follow her inside and she closes the door behind her. “Russ borrowed one of my papers,” she says, sobbing. “Martin accused us of copying. We have to go to the disciplinary committee.”
Russ copied from her? The guy who’s been reading Forbes since the womb is copying from the woman who didn’t know what OB was? “I’m sure Russ has admitted he copied from you, right?”
She hesitates. “He hasn’t.”
“What do you mean he hasn’t?” Layla shrieks.
“He went back to his room to think. What should I do?”
Layla snorts. “Go tell Martin the truth before you ruin your life. You could get expelled. You have to turn him in.”
“I can’t turn him in,” she wails. “I can’t turn in my boyfriend.”
I rub small circles on her back. “I think Layla has a point, Kimmy. You’re jeopardizing your future here.”
She shakes me away. “Don’t you see? If I tell the truth I could still lose everything. The code of ethics says you’re not supposed to show anyone your work, so I’m still responsible for what happened. So what’s the difference?”
“Kimmy,” I say, “showing someone your work is not the same as abetting in a crime. What are you more afraid of losing? School or Russ?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Are you crazy?” Layla yells, eyes flashing. “You didn’t work your ass off all year just to throw it all away to save some guy. Are you not pissed? He used you. He’s been using you from day one. We’re marching right to Martin’s office to tell him what happened.”
Kimmy’s hands start to shake. “You don’t understand. He didn’t use me. He loves me. We’re in love. This MBA thing…I didn’t even want to be here. I came because of Wayne. I’m not losing Russ.”
“Have you thought about what would happen to you if you take the rap for this?” Layla shouts. “Do you think you’re still going to have a job at O’Donnel?”
“I’m trying to be realistic,” Kimmy says.
“What the hell does that mean?” Layla asks.
“It means that this MBA doesn’t mean as much to me as it does to him. In a few years, I’ll want to start a family-”
“So what? Why does a family mean you can’t have a career?”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Kimmy says. “You live in a dream world. You can’t have everything. You can’t have kids and a husband and a company.”
Sometimes I’m amazed at how differently women view the world, from us and from each other.
“Of course you can,” Layla retorts. “Lots of women do.”
“Like who? Your mother? How many times has she called you since you moved here? Did you even see her when you were in town?”
Layla’s face flushes as if she’s been slapped. “She works. Hard.”
“I don’t want my kids to grow up with a Brazilian accent is all I’m saying.”
“Do what you want,” Layla says, and storms out.
Silence.
“Jamie, what do you think?” Kimmy asks.
“I think I’ll support whatever decision you make,” I say, “but I don’t think Russ deserves you.”
“Thank you.” She starts to cry again. “I wish it was you I was in love with.”
I rub circles on her back until she stops crying.
kimmy rationalizes her future
Friday, March 26, 4:30 p.m.
I know it’s Layla in the stall beside me, but I don’t say anything. I know she’s disappointed in me, but I can’t turn him in. I just can’t.
She’s been avoiding me since our fight. I think she’s being harsh. She won’t talk to Russ, either, just keeps glaring at him. Not that he’s noticed. They didn’t talk much before, anyway. Things with Russ have been good despite all this. Honestly, I think we’re closer than ever. When we go to the disciplinary committee on the twelfth, we’ll tell them that we talked about the project, that we apologize, that we didn’t realize what we were doing was wrong. And I’ve done some research. Actually, Jamie did some research for me, and he said that it’s not like we’re the first ones to ever get caught plagiarizing, and that out of the last five cases, three got off and the other two failed the course. No one got expelled. So big deal, I’ll fail a course. I can take it again. We can both take it again this summer. So we won’t go to New York. We’ll stay here. Big deal. We’ll stay here together and take summer credits. And then we’ll be together next year and maybe we’ll move into couple housing instead of living at the Zoo. And then next year we’ll move to New York and get great jobs. Get engaged. Get married.
Married. That’s what I wanted anyway, isn’t it? Mrs. in front of my name.
And what if they don’t buy it? Maybe I’ll tell them it was me who cheated. Because, let’s be honest, I was never here to learn how to climb the corporate ladder. And even if O’Donnel were to hire me later full-time, what happens then? I work for two years until I get pregnant, and then what? Let some stranger raise my kids?
I shudder at the thought of day care, remember the ear-picking-up woman, remember how tired and cranky my mother was when she arrived to take me home. Is that the type of woman I want to be? No. So it doesn’t matter if I don’t get my MBA. I want Russ to be happy.
I flush the toilet. Layla flushes beside me. We both hit the sinks at the same time. The silence feels heavy.
“You’re making a mistake,” she says.
“Don’t bother,” I answer.
“It’s my job to bother. I’m concerned. The guy you’re giving up your future for is the guy who cheated on his girlfriend for six months. He’s not long-term potential.”
How dare she? “It’s none of your business.”
“You shouldn’t trust him.” She turns off the tap and leaves me staring at myself in the mirror.
layla streaks
Thursday, April 1, 8:00 a.m.
I soap my body. Then I rinse the conditioner out of my hair. Then I turn off the water and reach out of the shower curtain for my towel. For my towel. Where is my towel?
I open the curtain. My towel is gone. My bathrobe is gone. What happened to my stuff?
I stand there dripping, totally confused. And then I hear it. A pitter-patter of giggling from outside the stall.
“Hello?” I call over the door. “Has anyone out there seen what happened to my stuff?”
“Your stuff?” Jamie asks. “What stuff?”
“I had a bathrobe and a towel and…oh, you jackass.” I suppose this is what you get when you’re involved with a jokester.
“April Fools’!” he screams from the other side of the wall.
“This isn’t funny,” I say but can’t stop myself from laughing.
“What’s not funny?”
It doesn’t seem like I’m getting my towel back anytime soon. So what are my options? I look around. The curtain is hooked up to the shower rod. I could always unhook it and wrap myself in it. I could, if it wasn’t germ infested.
I’d rather be naked. Kind of sexy. I’ll just sprint. Only other problem: my keys are in my bathrobe pocket. “I’ll make you a deal,” I say. “I’ll come out, if you pass me my keys.”
No answer.
Here goes nothing. I take my shower basket and place it in front of my crotch. It doesn’t do the job. Good thing I’ve been keeping my bikini wax up-to-date. Then I sneak out from behind the curtain into an empty bathroom and sprint, grabbing two paper towels, one per breast, as I run.
A flashbulb goes off.
The door to my room is open and Jamie’s howling. “That,” he says, “was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Hilarious.” I pull Jamie into my room and kiss him. I know I should be angry with him, furious even, but it is April Fools’ Day, and it’s not as if anyone else saw me streaking through the halls, not that I would have really cared one way or another. But still…I wish sometimes he’d be less of a clown. “You know, I like you when you’re serious, too. You don’t always have to make a joke out of everything.”
“Okay, just one more. What does an MBA call dating?”
“What?”
“Test marketing.”
I shake my head. “Come here, funny-boy,” I say, then kiss him again.
russ’s depression
Monday, April 5, 5:00 p.m.
Seventy-five issues of Forbes, two hundred issues of the Economist, and three hundred viewings of Family Ties, and now I might never graduate from business school.
Unbelievable.
“Anyone else?” Jamie asks. “Any arguments against why, as domestic producers who export half our goods to foreign markets, we would be hesitant to support an import quota? Russ?”
I shrug.
I’m leaning against the door to Jamie’s room, barely paying attention to what anyone is saying. We’re working on an assignment for GBE that’s due sometime this week. Unfortunately, I can’t concentrate. I don’t know how Kimmy can be so focused when we could get expelled next week.
I still don’t think we did anything that horrible. Who cares? Everyone borrows.
“Nothing to add, Russ?” Jamie asks. Again I shrug. I know Jamie’s pissed at me. But what does he want me to do? Admit I copied Kimmy’s paper? If I admit it, I’ll probably get expelled. If they can’t prove it, then the worst that could happen is that I fail the course. None of this is Jamie’s business, anyway. And Kimmy begged me not to tell. She thinks this is the better way to go. Even if we both fail the course-big deal. We can take it again. She doesn’t even think that O’Donnel will rescind its offer.
Someone knocks on the door, and the pounding reverberates against my back. I scoot over so Nick can squeeze inside. Droplets of water from his wet hair slide down his face. He smells like minty shampoo. “I know I’m late, man. Basketball went late. But I wrote up some arguments for the GBE assignment in favor of the quota I thought we could use.”
I haven’t been to basketball all week. I don’t feel like doing anything anymore. Maybe my apathy is from burnout. I took on too many projects and am now devoid of energy.
With great power comes great responsibility. That’s the theme line from Spider-Man. Back in September I had great power. I thought I could do anything.
I screwed everything up.
layla sees the truth
Friday, April 9, 3:00 p.m.
“Hi, Dorothy!” I sing. “Hi, Dennis! Hi, everyone!” Today ends the last week of the task force. Truth is, Dennis and I are the only ones who have weathered it out. The other volunteers have all dwindled away with exams and interviews. But not me. I stick by my commitments.
“Hi, Layla,” Dennis says. His glasses are crooked, and I resist the urge to straighten them.
Dorothy is biting into an apple and packing up her stuff. “Layla, I have to run out early. If you could update some files for me, I’d really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” I pull up a chair in front of the main computer and start inserting data. Deepak Hussein will not be joining us in the fall. Has decided to remain at his job for the time being, and would like to know if he can defer his acceptance until the following September. Sorry, Deepak. No deferrals. Try again next year.
Forty-five minutes in I spot Brad’s file. He has decided to go to Harvard Business School. Apparently, he’s never been dumped before and I’ve soured him off LWBS completely. Oh, well. Not sure how well he would have done at the Zoo, anyway. The closet might not have had enough room for his shoes. The entire dorm might not have had enough room for his shoes. He didn’t write about his shoes in his application. Would have been an interesting add-on under hobbies. Not.
I click on his name and add the information to his file. I shouldn’t make fun of him. Just because he’s a prince, doesn’t mean he’s my prince. You can’t fall in love with a man on paper, is all.
I close the file on Bradley Green, and you know what comes almost right after Green? Grossman. Can’t hurt to peek at his file, just for fun. I’ve been here for three hours; I could certainly use a break. I peer around the room to see what Dennis is up to. He appears to be totally engrossed in his keyboard, so I click on Jamie’s student file. The screen with his student number pops up. I scroll down and click on the icon for his application. I’m giggling in anticipation. How crazy could he have gone?
The document opens and I see where he typed in his name and Florida address. How cute! I picture him sitting on a wooden patio, a sand beach in view, typing away his address on his laptop, pursing his adorable lips. He’s a great kisser. I’m really happy. Everything is perfect. Fine, not perfect. He’s a little shorter than my dream man. And balder. And he has a unibrow. But other than that he’s perfect for me. I hope. I think. Is he?
And here’s his birthdate, this July. We’ll have to do something fabulous.
And then the F for female…
F? Why was there an F anyway? Ah. No wonder the school records had him down as a woman. He applied as one! Silly Jamie.
Mild panic. Why did he apply as a woman? Maybe secretly he is a woman. That would explain why he didn’t want to have sex. I exhale with relief when I remember Kimmy’s less than fervent description of his genitalia. I know that she’s seen the equipment, what there is of it.
Silly Jamie. He must have accidentally checked the wrong square when he applied. There is no way that he’d do that…purposely.
Unless he thought that applying as a woman would give him a competitive advantage. An invisible vacuum sucks all the air from my lungs. No. He wouldn’t have done that. Would he? People make typos all the time. I saw them myself. Applicants wrote in the wrong schools. If someone could write in the wrong schools, then surely I can expect someone to write in the wrong letter. Except, the M square on the original application was nowhere near the F square.
A fog of nausea overwhelms me. I have to ask him. Now.
I say goodbye to Dennis and return to the Zoo. Jamie is sprawled on his bed, watching an old black-and-white movie I don’t recognize.
“Hey darlin’, have you ever seen-” He breaks off at the shocked look on my face. “What’s wrong?”
I close the door behind me. It must have been a
mistake. This sweet man wouldn’t do something that despicable. “Did you apply to LWBS as a woman?” I blurt out. As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I realize how ridiculous it sounds. I may as well have asked him if he is, in fact, transsexual.
His cheeks flush. The balding part of his head flushes. And then I realize he did it.
He smiles like a kid who just got caught dipping his finger in the cake’s icing. “Kind of funny, huh?”
Tell me he doesn’t think this is a joke. I attempt to stop my hands from trembling. “Excuse me?”
“I said it’s kind of funny. Or it was kind of funny.” He sighs. “Obviously you don’t seem to think so, so why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk about it?”
Instead of sitting, I pace the room.
“Layla, sit. I just washed my sheets. No germs I swear.”
And that’s when I blow up. “Not everything is a joke! This isn’t funny! What were you thinking?”
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I didn’t plan it.”
“It was an accident?” Please tell me it was an accident.
“It was research. For an article. Affirmative action was a hot topic and I thought it would make an interesting study. I applied to ten different schools, five as a male and five as a female.” He’s talking quickly, the words pouring out of him like water on full blast from the tap.
“But why male versus female? Why not pretend to be Hispanic or African-American?”
“Because people always think the name Jamie is female. If the only discrepancy was my gender, then I could keep my name and get my college to send my real grades.”
“But what about the rest of the application?” Someone in the hallway smashes into the side of the room and laughs. We both ignore it, and I continue pacing.
Monkey Business Page 27
