Moo

by Smiley, Jane

  When asked whether the revelation of a recent bequest to the university of the design for a revolutionary new piece of farm machinery played a role in his decision, the governor said, “Education is a top priority in this state, and with this governor. But God helps those who help themselves, doesn’t He?” Bids for the right to develop and manufacture the machine, the brainchild of an independent farmer-inventor who recently died from the complications of a stroke, have come from as far away as Japan and Korea. Said Dr. Nils Harstad, dean of extension, “After having almost daily contact with Mr. Stroop, the inventor, over the last few years, I know how thrilled he would be at the interest of these legendary companies in his homely efforts. Our state is certainly a land of opportunity, even in these restricted times.”

  Memo

  From: Provost’s Office

  To: Professor Margaret Bell

  English Department

  You are hereby authorized to hire a work-study student, as per your request of September 30, 1989, on a half-time basis. Funds in the amount of two thousand dollars will be allocated to the Women’s Studies budget as of July 1. Please notify this office of the name and status of your hiree before June 15.

  Memo

  From: Helen

  To: Cecelia

  I am notifying all faculty members with first- and second-year language sections that class size will revert to twenty-five students as of the beginning of the summer session. Hooray! Also, Cecelia, I would like for you to serve on the university parking committee next fall. Please let me know.

  Memo

  From: Professor M. Bell

  To: Provost’s Office

  I have hired Mary Jackson, SSN 453-89-1234, as my work-study for the fall.

  Thanks, Mrs. Walker!

  Letter

  Mrs. Bo Jones

  147 Red Stick Circle

  Dear Mrs. Jones,

  We regret to inform you that we have been unable to make contact with your husband, Dr. Bo Jones, since he was last seen in the city of Samarkand, Uzbekistan, USSR, thirty days ago. Soviet officials report that the present turmoil in the Soviet Union had become a severe hindrance in their efforts to locate Dr. Jones or his companions. Please let me know immediately if you receive any word from your husband.

  Yours truly,

  Richard Wagner

  Liaison Officer

  United States Department of State

  Letter

  Mr. Loren Stroop

  RR 2

  Auburn

  You May Already Be a Winner!

  In only a few weeks, MR. STROOP, you could receive a check for $10 million! What are your dreams, MR. STROOP? Mail in your entry today, and your dreams, LOREN, could come true!

  Memo

  From: Elaine

  To: Ivar

  Ivar, please authorize the transfer of my secretary, William Bartle, to another office. His “preference” for not doing any work is causing gridlock over here. Matters are at an impasse.

  [handwritten]

  Mrs. Walker, I’m begging!!!!!! Please!!!!!!

  Memo

  From: Chairman of the Horticulture Department

  To: Hort Interns

  We will have our first meeting at the new garden site beside the bus barns on Tuesday at 4:30. I urge you to accept the extremely unpromising nature of this site as a challenge. Our preliminary surveys of the spot show that the soil is mostly clay, and remarkably compacted. Part of the site was originally a wetland, which was filled in in the 1950s with some waste matter from the university. We have not yet determined the composition of the fill, but given the university’s checkered past, we may be in for an ugly surprise. The good news is that the state Department of Natural Resources has agreed to help fund cleanup of the site and restoration of the original wetland area. I have also just received word that an adjoining tract of some three hundred acres has been sold to the Nature Conservancy. Our “garden” may look considerably different when we are finished from our former garden outside Old Meats, but the possibilities are exciting ones. Please bring any preliminary ideas and sketches to the Tuesday meeting.

  N.B.: Although Professor Leopold will assume chairmanship of the department on July 1, I will remain in charge of the gardens, so you can rest assured that the plans we agree upon WILL go forward. I know some of you have been wondering about this.

  Memo

  From: Cecelia

  To: Helen

  Okay, I’ll serve on the committee. Hey, did you really just get married?

  Letter

  Mr. Richard Wagner

  Liaison Officer

  Department of State

  Dear Mr. Wagner,

  Although I have had no word from my husband, I did receive a call today from Cabela’s sporting goods in Kearney, Nebraska, telling me that they have received the iced carcass of an adult male boar, apparently from my husband. It was shot on April 15, according to the note. It was sent from Kabul, Afghanistan. I asked them about the text of the note, but they said it just said, “Hi from Kabul. Regards, Dr. Bo.” I gave Cabela’s permission to have the carcass stuffed before it deteriorates, so you will have to contact them if you think you can find clues to his whereabouts.

  Thanks for your help.

  Mrs. Carla Jones

  Note

  Keri,

  Divonne got that fellowship to West Africa after all, so even though our apartment was back on, now it’s off again, and my sister won’t let me move out of Dubuque House anyway, so is your apartment thing, you know, FINAL? I talked to the R.A. and he said we can have the room again next year but at least two of the present roommates have to commit to staying here. Plus all that, you know, really, I do like you, even though I know you don’t think I do. I’m sure we can work things out (this is awkward), but let me know, because I have to get back to the R.A. tomorrow—

  M.

  Memo

  From: Provost’s Office

  To: Dean, Clemson School of Art and Design

  Please remove from the cemetery at once the artwork entitled Balloon Pig. This office is fully aware that the artistic apotheosis of this work, namely the projected exploding of the “pig” on May 1 that has been advertised in the Daily, is intended to be a revolutionary “statement” on a number of issues that have affected the campus this year. However, it is the opinion of this office that the litter resulting from the fact that the “pig” is stuffed with play money, and from the thirty-foot-in-diameter membrane itself, would prove onerous to the maintenance staff as well as destructive to the wildlife on and around the campus. And, Jan, it is my personal opinion that this thing is an eyesore. It has to go.

  Mrs. Loraine Walker

  Letter

  Mr. Asa Barker

  Collegiate Properties

  4567 Red Stick Boulevard

  Dear Mr. Barker,

  This is to inform you that even though you won’t return my deposit, I feel that I must break the lease, and so I will not be living in your apartment in the fall. I’m sorry. I’d like to say that I don’t think you have been very understanding in this matter.

  Very sincerely yours,

  Keri Donaldson

  Memo

  From: Mrs. Loraine Walker

  To: Dr. Lionel Gift

  Sorry, Dr. Gift, I cannot reschedule the audit of your university accounts. Please bring your papers to my office at 10 a.m. Friday morning as originally scheduled.

  69

  Off-off-off Campus

  “I’LL HAVE,” said Dr. Lionel Gift with the sort of self-confidence that always gave Elaine Dobbs-Jellinek a prickling feeling on the soles of her feet, “the warm salad of field greens, with just a little balsamic vinegar on the side, no oil, and the seared medallions of salmon with the tomato-dill coulis. And bring a bottle of, let’s see, the Cakebread ’87 Chardonnay. Elaine?”

  As much as Elaine wanted to appear as though lunches like this one were routine for her, she also wanted to eat something that she would never eat again, fatty,
caloric, expensive, and trendy, something like the ballotine of rabbit in a Madeira-truffle-tomato essence. She liked all of those words, from “ballotine” (which she imagined to be a golden box of puff pastry) to “essence,” except for the word “rabbit.” The waiter issued a small breathy noise, the sort of noise inaudible to Dr. Lionel Gift, who was greeting people right and left, but intended to remind Elaine in clarion terms that he, the waiter, was urgently needed at many other tables. “How are the crabcakes?” said Elaine.

  “Excellent, of course,” purred the waiter.

  And there it was. She said, “Oh, yes. I’ll have the lobster claw meat in a ragout of champagne, morel mushrooms, and cream.”

  “Excellent choice, madame.” At last he went away.

  “And how are your meetings going, my dear?” remarked Dr. Lionel Gift, spreading his napkin in his lap. “Yes, hello, Howard. The Hay-Adams. Call me there.”

  “Oh, wonderfully well,” said Elaine, all the time ignoring the fact that while Dr. Lionel Gift was staying at the Hay-Adams, she was out at the Hilton in Alexandria with what appeared to be defense contractors, and low-level ones at that. She happened to know that Jack Parker was in New York, at the Regency. She gave herself a mental shake. “Wonderfully well. Especially with the people from—”

  “Yes, Fred. I did leave a message with your secretary. Will you be in after two? Ah, here we are. I think you’ll like this chardonnay, Elaine. It has a nice spice. Very good, thank you.”

  “Embryos R Us. Oh, this is good. I like chardon—”

  “Marvin! Nice to see you. Yes, the conference in Miami was quite productive. You’ll be sorry you missed it!” Dr. Gift gave one of his sudden fearsome chuckles, and Elaine’s toes curled in pleasure.

  For his part, Dr. Gift was not at all immune to Ms. Dobbs-Jellinek’s charms. It only took 10 percent of his brainpower to stroke the passing lobbyists and consultants and with the other 90 percent he was surreptitiously admiring the woman. He didn’t often squire such a nicely wrapped package. From the Fendi bag to the Donna Karan suit right down to the two-inch Cole-Haan heels (which made her a respectable four inches taller than Dr. Gift), and including the Burberry raincoat he had checked for her at the door, she looked fresh and expensive and he hadn’t failed to note the admiring glances of men of his acquaintance who, he also suspected, gossiped about whether he, Dr. Lionel Gift, was gay or sexless. Well, he was neither, and he knew perfectly well how to touch a woman’s waist as you were steering her to her seat and how to put your hand delicately on her elbow when other men were pushing past.

  And when the waiter brought her dish, her face lit up in a way that was both girlish and attractive. All in all, it was a good decision to bring her here, the most expensive restaurant in Washington, and he would deal with Mrs. Loraine Walker later—she didn’t scare him, not for a moment. He had charged more than one two-hundred-dollar lunch to his research account and he didn’t intend to stop now. The fact was, and he could make this clear to Ivar himself, he was a walking magnet for grant money and his every waking and sleeping moment benefitted the university in some way or other.

  When the food came, Elaine gave up the hopeless task of making conversation and picked up her fork. The fact was that she had never really been attracted to Dr. Gift before. She took her first bite of the lobster and glanced over at him. The food was so good, so savory and rich and full of flavor, that he practically shone with sudden sexiness, short, round, and bald though he was. She chewed the tender meat and sucked out the juices and felt the sauce coat her tongue and roll down her throat. After that, he looked still better.

  Another thing you could say in her favor, observed Dr. Gift, was that she paid her own way. What was wrong with traditional marriage, in Dr. Gift’s view, and according to his principles, was that the return on one’s investment was so uncertain. Look at the men he knew, almost every one of them, if you wanted the unvarnished truth, whose expectations of comfort, companionship, sexual release, and worthy inheritors had been blighted by spousal irritability, independence, coldness, or infertility. On the whole, Dr. Gift did not share the traditional faith in domesticity that had marked even the most rigorous economic thinkers.

  Nor had he ever been inclined by nature or philosophy to make romantic distinctions among females, other than enjoying rather abstractly the niceties of packaging. Elaine, though, did eat her food with every indication of a full measure of insatiability, the way you should eat everything: more hungrily at the last bite than the first. At bottom, Dr. Gift admired that in anyone. He found that his own salmon sated him all too easily, and wondered if he should have ordered something else.

  This, Elaine thought, this food, this life, this onslaught of power and money and decor, was what she deserved. The endless and thankless task of prying money out of state, local, nonprofit, and corporate institutions was a labor most people underestimated in every way. Her job wasn’t like, say, Jack Parker’s job, which was mostly a matter of holding your hat under the open spigot and saying thank you. You had to be a very special person, as she was, to do her job successfully year after year, and for her inherent specialness no one, from her father through Dean right down to the guy she was seeing currently in the plant pathology department (she had found him a grant for $100,000 the spring before), had ever TRULY appreciated her. She had to do do do when other women only had to be be be. It was unfair, but a life of one lobster lunch after another might make it more fair.

  And so, as he took a piece of baguette out of the breadbasket, Dr. Lionel Gift entertained a thought, well, a notion, really, of bringing Elaine Dobbs-Jellinek, who he knew made eighty-three thousand dollars a year, under his personal umbrella. He even entertained another notion—she was not too old to produce one carefully raised son (the highest returns were always to be made on only male children), and neither, on balance, was he. He had won two university teaching awards, hadn’t he?

  And Elaine Dobbs-Jellinek, smiling as if amused and adjusting the rather tight waist of her jacket, entertained a notion, too. A consulting partnership might be just the ticket. She had no objections to doing the legwork, if Dr. Gift had no objections to introducing her to his connections, and if such a partnership led to more personal intercourse, well, how bad could it be?

  And so, as Elaine lifted her last bite and set it on her tongue and as Dr. Gift folded the last leaf of chicory from his salad into his mouth, they thought the same thought (surely a sign that the hidden hand of the marketplace was working in their favor), Why not?

  Excited, Dr. Gift poured Elaine another glass of wine. Excited, Elaine wrapped her manicure around the stem of the glass. Excited, they smiled and clinked their glasses, and then—

  And then—

  And then Elaine thought about how much she hated housework, and how every man she had ever known really did think that that was the woman’s responsibility, and you always ended up fighting about things like socks and dust bunnies and hair in the drains, for God’s sake, no matter how well-intentioned you started out.

  And then Dr. Gift recalled that Elaine was said to have a son already, a cuckoo in the nest, and anyway, it was better to live by principle than by desire, and the most important principle he tried to teach his students was never to jeopardize your own return by indulging in an unproven, never to be proven, faith in the common good. The wisest course for homo economicus was the cultivation of indifference.

  “Dessert?” said Dr. Gift.

  “It’s tempting,” said Elaine, “but I suppose not. And I do have to make some calls before my next meeting.” She laid her napkin on the table, and stood up. The waiter stepped forward with the check. “Thank you so much for this lovely lunch!”

  “Oh, my dear,” rejoined Dr. Gift, warmly, “don’t thank me. Thank the citizens of our fair state.”

  As they made their way out, stopping, of course, to retrieve Elaine’s Burberry coat from the hatcheck girl, Dr. Gift found himself being attentive, and even tender, as if something had gone an
other way rather than the way it, of course, had to go. On the street in front of the restaurant, he squeezed her elbow a little too lingeringly, as if he couldn’t quite release her, and then, when she did depart, he felt an unaccustomed pang of loneliness.

  She disappeared into the noontime crowd. Startled was how he felt, startled and disoriented. Instead of striding off, Dr. Lionel Gift looked around at the—the—yes, the indifferent Georgetown row houses, the indifferent shops and the shining indifferent cars, the indifferent sidewalks and the indifferent intersections, all seething under the indifferent sky with homines economici, who were all themselves indifferent, at least toward Dr. Lionel Gift.

  As she hurried away, her high heels clapping the pavement like a smattering of applause, Elaine, too, felt disappointed, lowered somehow, as if she would never find entrance, not only to the great white buildings in the distance, or to the Hay-Adams, but to something else that she couldn’t even identify. Perhaps it was the realm of self-assurance, she thought. Whatever it was, wherever it was, there, she was sure, she would not look at herself as she did now, passing the ripply glass windows of the Georgetown shops, awkward and broken into strangely vivid parts—a fat white calf, a long shoe, glaring big hands clinging to her Fendi bag, a face appalled and naked. She paused and summoned the remnants of her dignity from the farthest reaches of her inner geography, then smiled at no one in particular, and took her sunglasses from her bag.