Grey Howl

by Clea Simon

  ‘I assume I’ve reached Ms Dulcie Schwartz of ELLA?’ a man’s voice asked. It was familiar, but she couldn’t place it, and her stomach sank further. Not Thorpe, but someone connected to the conference. ‘Paul Barnes here. Maybe you remember me from last night?’ She stopped in her tracks. Surely he hadn’t seen her back at the Science Center. Was he going to accuse her of eavesdropping? The message continued. ‘I was hoping we could talk about your work while I was out here – your work and mine. I have, as you know, been very impressed by your research, and I have some ideas that you might be interested in.’

  Dulcie stood there, staring at her phone. Paul Barnes – the Professor Barnes of So Many Cities, So Many Hills – wanted to share some ideas with her?

  ‘I have a particular paper in mind that could use your input. Of course, please keep this confidential,’ the message concluded, leaving Dulcie with her mouth agape. Paul Barnes wanted to work with her. With her. On a paper!

  Trembling with excitement, Dulcie hit callback – and immediately regretted her haste. There was too much she should do first. Too many questions she needed answers to from her adviser – and from Showalter. It was with relief, then, that she heard Barnes’s recorded voice.

  ‘Dulcie Schwartz returning your call.’ She worked at keeping her voice level and calm. ‘I would be happy to speak with you,’ she said, and left it at that. Her breathing was still ragged as she started walking again; her mind was racing. It was her presentation – the paper that he’d gotten a look at last night – that had attracted Professor Barnes’s interest. Her hours of work were paying off. Maybe by spring she’d have a co-credit on a paper by Professor Paul Barnes. Or maybe a book?

  He would undoubtedly make use of the Mildon over the next few days. In fact, maybe he had already applied. Could Mr Griddlehaus have misplaced his application? Was it possible that he didn’t know about the application procedure? Or maybe – Dulcie’s heart soared – Barnes had been waiting to approach the special collection; waiting because he wanted to make sure Dulcie was available as a researcher. As a colleague. Maybe he would get the job here – and she would be able to work under him, here in Cambridge, while Chris finished his degree. Or, if she had to, she’d go out to San Francisco, just for a year or two. It was an unbelievable opportunity.

  She stopped short. She owed this all to Renée Showalter, of course. If Professor Showalter hadn’t directed those letters toward her, she never would have been invited to present at the conference at all. Her current paper wouldn’t have been possible, and Paul Barnes would never have seen the work that so obviously intrigued him. Was that why he had asked for her to keep quiet about the offer? Was he trying to poach her? Should she not have called back so quickly? Then again, maybe he knew that Showalter had never offered her a credit on any of her own publications. Besides, Barnes had said he’d heard of her other article, too.

  She looked down at her silent phone and breathed a sigh of relief. The call had come in while she was at the Mildon. She’d seen Showalter go after Barnes before then. They must have spoken. In fact, Dulcie thought, she just might owe this opportunity to Renée Showalter, too. Maybe this was the ‘personal business’ her mentor had been referring to – something she hadn’t wanted to tell Dulcie about until it was set up. Either way, all she had done was return a phone call. She would talk to Showalter before she decided on any further steps.

  She couldn’t wait to call Chris. Luckily, he answered on the first ring. ‘Hey, Chris, I’ve got great news.’

  ‘I was about to call you,’ said her boyfriend. ‘It’s the strangest thing.’

  ‘Did you hear from Mr Grey?’ She’d almost gotten over being jealous of his connection with her cat. Then again, maybe he’d told Chris about the Barnes opportunity. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t Mr Grey, though I have to say, Esmé is being very odd today.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dulcie kept walking. She’d spring her news as soon as he was done. ‘So is that what was strange?’

  ‘No, not really.’ Chris didn’t sound like himself. Lack of sleep, Dulcie thought. ‘I’m, like, not tired. Dulcie, I couldn’t even go to sleep once I got home.’

  So much for that theory. Still, this was easily explained. ‘Well, you were asleep when I came to see you, Chris,’ she said, eager to dispense with these pleasantries. ‘I think you’re just out of practice. You probably slept through your shift.’

  Saying that reminded her of something – those undergrads at the café. ‘Hey, Chris, what’s your department’s policy on missing a shift?’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Dulcie, I’m not on overnights for the foreseeable future. Not any more.’

  ‘No, not you.’ She smiled. It would be good to have him around. ‘I overheard some students complaining. Their section leader never showed up or something.’ In retrospect, it seemed like such a minor thing.

  ‘They should talk.’ Chris was eating. Something crunchy, and Dulcie began to regret that lost half sandwich. ‘I had a bunch of appointments set up last night. That’s one of the reasons I took the shift; I knew some of my students needed time with me. But Dulcie, none of them showed up. Not a single one!’

  ‘Maybe they just didn’t have the heart to wake you?’ Dulcie knew the feeling.

  ‘Not these guys. They’re hardcore, and we’re too close to examine period.’

  ‘Huh.’ Dulcie had arrived at the Science Center. Besides, she saw she was getting another call. It was Paul Barnes again. ‘Chris, I’ve got to go, but what’s up with Esmé? Does she seem sick?’ It was probably nothing, but the little cat was too dear for Dulcie to ignore. The other call went to voicemail.

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ Whatever Chris was eating was definitely crunchy. ‘Not at all. But she hissed at me when I came in this morning. Then she swiped at me and ran and hid. I watched her run, Dulcie. She wasn’t limping or anything. And she’d eaten and everything. It was just, well … I had the feeling that she was afraid of me.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’ Dulcie pondered, ignoring the urge to rush off the phone. ‘Esmé isn’t afraid of anything.’

  ‘Maybe you can talk to her when you get home.’ Chris sounded hurt. ‘She won’t say anything to me.’

  ‘You’re home tonight, right?’ So much had been going on, Dulcie couldn’t remember.

  ‘For the foreseeable future,’ he said. ‘Assuming, that is, Esmé lets me stay.’

  ‘She doesn’t have final say.’ Dulcie was joking, but something was wrong here. ‘Mr Grey does.’

  TWELVE

  She hadn’t told him. It wasn’t the confidentiality issue that had stopped her. Surely Paul Barnes would expect her to share such news with her boyfriend. Odds were, he simply meant to warn her about bragging to her colleagues, as if she wasn’t already aware of how hurtful professional jealousy could be.

  It wasn’t even that Chris hadn’t asked, even though she’d said she had great news. That stung a little, she had to admit. Basically it was that he’d sounded so perplexed, Dulcie didn’t have the heart to bring up her own happy surprise again. Well, she told herself, as she clicked through to voicemail, good news is always more fun shared in person. Besides, this latest call might mean she’d have even more to tell.

  It didn’t. Paul Barnes hadn’t left another voicemail, and Dulcie tried to counter her disappointment with reason. After all, she had just called him back; he had probably been hoping to reach her in person. But just as she was about to try the visiting professor one more time, her phone rang again – a number she knew too well: Martin Thorpe’s office in the English and American Literatures and Language department.

  ‘What do you mean, you’re not at the Science Center?’ Martin Thorpe sounded more frantic than angry. ‘That was the only thing you needed to do this morning.’

  Dulcie caught herself. Yes, he was being factually inaccurate, if not unreasonable. And, yes, it did seem like, perhaps, other candidates for his very job were treating her with a lot more respect the
se days. But he was, for now, the head of her department, as well as her thesis adviser. And he was under a lot of stress. And so, taking a deep breath, she responded as calmly as she could, explaining how Kelly, the media tech, seemed to have things under control with Stella Roebuck.

  ‘It’s not Ms Roebuck I’m worried about.’ Thorpe’s voice was high and tight. ‘It’s Marco Tesla. He’s experienced some setbacks lately, I gather, and no matter what I – what we – think of his work …’ Her advisor caught himself about to make a supremely politically incorrect comment and changed course. ‘At any rate, he’s due at the Science Center, and he’s expecting to be met by a departmental representative. He is, well … he is rather important. Remember, you’re representing the department, Ms Schwartz. I need you to do your job, and your job, today, is to smooth some feathers.’

  Reprimanded, if not enlightened, Dulcie apologized again only to have it register that she was talking to a dead line. In addition, because of Thorpe’s hemming and hawing, she realized she had no real idea of what exactly she was supposed to do. Because Marco Tesla was a late addition to the schedule, Dulcie had no notes about his presentation or what he might need. Still, she figured, between her knowledge of the university and Kelly’s, they’d manage. In truth, Dulcie wondered why Thorpe had insisted on her presence. All she would be doing was asking Kelly for help anyway. Could Thorpe be trying to sabotage her? Keep her so busy with his petty demands that she had no time to hobnob with the visiting scholars?

  ‘Protocol, Ms Schwartz. Protocol.’ She could still hear Thorpe’s injunction, as well as the worry that made his voice sound tight. What he meant was that a media tech might not bow and scrape enough. Well, Dulcie could do that, out of sympathy if nothing else, and silently promised her absent adviser that she’d track down Marco Tesla before trying Paul Barnes again.

  If only her assignment was to aid Showalter, she thought with a sigh. Or Barnes. Anyone, really, that she cared about. As it was, she was going to have a hard time recognizing the rising West Coast star. She knew he did something with deconstructivist criticism, but that was all. If only she had spent more time reading up on the other attendees, maybe she’d have been able to identify him by process of elimination. But her own paper had taken up so much time, and she had needed to brush up on Renée Showalter’s latest work. Now it was too late.

  Fate – or perhaps a certain feline – came to her aid. As soon as she walked back through those glass doors she saw her own California connection. ‘Trista!’ she called out to the blonde postgrad. ‘Thank the goddess you’re here.’

  Her friend turned and raised one pierced eyebrow. ‘Dulcie, of course I am.’

  ‘What?’ Dulcie was so relieved to have found someone who might actually recognize the mysterious Tesla, she almost didn’t care what Trista was on about. Still, Trista was a friend, so she played along. ‘Let me guess, cute guy alert?’

  Trista had the grace to smile. ‘Always, but what brings you here? Renée Showalter?’

  ‘Not really.’ Dulcie shook her head. ‘I mean, I’ve already seen her. I was able to give her a draft of my paper, but she blew me off for lunch.’ That hurt less now that she had gotten that call from Paul Barnes. ‘The truth is, I’ve got to find Marco Tesla, and I thought you might know what he looks like.’ She looked around. ‘I wouldn’t mind running into Professor Barnes, though.’

  ‘The old geezer?’ Despite her misgivings, Dulcie nodded. ‘Dulcie, you should be careful of guys like him.’

  ‘Tris, just because I admire the man …’ Enough was enough. ‘I mean, you don’t think that’s why I’m here.’ She paused. ELLA did have that reputation. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course not! But you’re about to present a paper.’

  And I may have a credit on Paul Barnes’s next paper. Dulcie couldn’t say that. Not yet. ‘Well, I had help,’ was all she said.

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Trista popped her gum. Dulcie knew her friend was trying to quit smoking, but her substitute habit only added to the shaggy bleached hair and metal adornments to create a decidedly unacademic look. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

  Another pop. Dulcie put up her hand. ‘Hold on, Tris, I’m not following you. And, do you mind? That gum is really distracting.’

  Trista grinned. ‘I’m going for post-postmodern,’ she said, her voice low. ‘I love how it confounds the dean.’

  ‘I’m happy for you, Trista. Really.’ Now that Dulcie knew that the look was intentional, she was less worried about her friend. ‘Especially if you can point out Marco Tesla for me.’

  ‘Not a problem.’ Trista paused to remove the gum from her mouth. She looked around for a place to stash it but, catching Dulcie’s glare, dug a tissue out of her pocket to wrap it in. ‘I wouldn’t mind running into him either. He’s hot.’

  So that, Dulcie thought, was why her friend had slammed Paul Barnes. Luckily, Trista hadn’t waited for a response. ‘Anyway, I saw him a while ago down around the media center,’ she was saying. ‘Down by where Lecture Hall A lets out? I was going to grab him.’ Trista wiggled her pierced eyebrows. ‘I mean, metaphorically, of course. But he was huddled up close with Showalter.’

  ‘Renée Showalter? You mean they were cuddling?’ Could Dulcie have been wrong? Could this have been the personal business the professor had told Dulcie about?

  ‘No, not cuddled. Huddled.’ Trista repeated the word. ‘As in, having a very intense, very private discussion in a public place. That’s what it looked like to me, anyway.’

  ‘Huh.’ Dulcie thought about it. ‘Well, she told me she had some private business to see to.’

  Trista was shaking her head. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. I mean, it takes all kinds, but …’

  ‘What?’ Dulcie felt a bit affronted. ‘Just because Renée Showalter is eighteenth century and Marco Tesla is the new deconstructivist darling, you think they couldn’t be a couple? Just look at me and Chris.’ She resisted adding that Trista herself was now more or less living with Chris’s even geekier friend, Jerry.

  ‘The body chemistry, Dulcie.’ Trista looked at her like she was a freshman. ‘There was none. Besides, she’s about a foot taller than he is.’

  Dulcie waved that off. ‘So you’re saying it was a professional squabble? Like, I don’t know, about a publication? They’re not scheduled up against each other.’ She went back over Nancy’s plans in her mind. No, none of the major speakers conflicted with each other. Then it hit her. ‘Wait, what does Tesla look like, anyway? I’m supposed to meet him.’

  ‘He’s dreamy,’ said her friend. Dulcie rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry, he’s about five-six, slim as a rock star. And he always dresses in these sharp Thom Browne suits.’

  ‘Blue-black hair, all done up in spikes?’ Dulcie knew whom she meant. She’d missed him by one of those spiky hairs.

  ‘Yeah, bedhead.’ Trista nodded approvingly. ‘A dated look on anyone else, but with those piercing blue eyes, he can pull it off.’

  ‘And do you think he’s still there?’ Dulcie was more or less used to Trista’s crushes. Right now, she was running late.

  ‘No, he went back into the lecture hall. I sort of – ah – shadowed him. That’s what I was trying to tell you.’ Trista must have picked up on her impatience. ‘He wanted to keep talking to Big Red, but she tore herself away. I mean, literally, Dulcie. He grabbed her arm and she pulled it away. What I wouldn’t do to have him hold on to me like that.’

  Dulcie filtered out that last bit. ‘So she took off?’ That was disappointing. After all, she now had more to discuss with her unofficial mentor.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. That’s why, when I saw you, I thought maybe you two were meeting up.’

  ‘No, I’ve got to meet Tesla. I’m the department liaison.’ Dulcie sighed. ‘Actually, I’m really glad you’re here. I had no idea what he looked like. But now I think I ran into him earlier.’

  ‘Why don’t I come with you anyway?’ That wicked grin was back. ‘Just to make sure you find the right guy.’


  Dulcie couldn’t help herself. She grinned back. ‘Sure.’ She hooked her arm through her friend’s. ‘We’ll be the university welcoming committee.’

  ‘Goody.’

  Dulcie could barely keep up with Trista as the taller girl skipped through the atrium. But when Dulcie tried to steer her toward the door to the lecture hall stage, her friend pulled her back.

  ‘No, he was around the back – by where the sound board is,’ she said.

  Dulcie suspected she wanted an excuse to skip for a while longer, but let Trista lead her around the back of the hall to the other door. There, they unlocked arms, and Trista actually took a moment to smooth down her blouse and fluff up her own spiky hair.

  ‘Tris?’ Dulcie asked. ‘I do have a job to do.’

  ‘Don’t we all,’ added Trista, and pulled the heavy door open.

  They were greeted by a piercing scream. ‘No!’

  Trista froze, staring into the dark. Dulcie grabbed her, and pushed her aside.

  ‘Hello? What’s going on?’ Stepping into the hall from the bright atrium, Dulcie found herself momentarily blind. Only the stage, down below, was still lit. On it, she could see a diminutive figure, hunched over the podium. ‘Kelly, are you here?’ Dulcie called.

  ‘Yes, hang on!’ The voice came from her left – in the sound booth. ‘Ms Roebuck – Professor – what’s wrong?’

  Kelly appeared from behind a nearly invisible door and raced past Dulcie, down to the stage. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Wait, is that—’ Trista had joined Dulcie, and seemed about to sprint down the hall. ‘Oh, no.’

  Dulcie turned toward her friend, but before she could ask for an explanation, the figure on the stage, now bent almost double, screamed again.

  ‘No!’ The figure – it was a woman – turned away from the podium. Still crouched down, she had her hands up around her ears, as if trying to shield herself from her own screams. ‘This can’t be happening!’

  ‘What?’ Kelly had reached the stage by then. Not bothering with the steps at either side, she hoisted herself up right in front of the hysterical woman. ‘Are you hurt?’