Braided Gold

by Glen Roylance

  “Oh yes, I can see how everything will play out, but just beware in your efforts to paint my name black. What goes around comes around, and Eugene Michaelson will pay a high price before all of this is over.”

  The President stood, signaling that their session was at an end. He seemed to be unfazed by Paul’s warning. “Dr. Kirkham, at the risk of being repetitious I suggest that you take a day or two and thoroughly consider the options open to you. Give some thought to my earlier offer. I would be pleased to notify the Trustees that there will be no need for these ugly proceedings in your behalf. I would also be willing to provide material assistance as you seek a teaching post somewhere outside of California. Certainly that would provide the kind of fairness you’re demanding”

  “There will be no need for that,” said Paul curtly. Renewing his vow to fight back he added, “Just go ahead and do what you have to do. But while you’re putting this travesty together you need to remember that by rubber stamping all of this, you’re lighting a short fuse, and when the explosion comes you will wish you had never gotten yourself mixed up in this thing. I promise you that if you try to take me down, I will take you with me!”

  Without the conventional formality or courtesy accorded a meeting with a university president, Paul turned abruptly and walked to the door. Before exiting he turned and looked back to mutter a final dark threat. “It seems to me that you’re the one who needs to reevaluate the options that are available to you.”

  It was early in the afternoon when Paul pulled into a parking space in front of a long, flat building flanked by extensions of a chain link fence in an industrial area east of San Diego. Next to the front door of a cinderbock building a large metal sign read, “El Cajon Auto Repair.” On either side of the office entrance were open garage bays where vehicles were undergoing repair work. Paul compared the building address with the one written on the note card Maureen had given him some days earlier. Tucking the card into his shirt pocket, he got out of his car and walked towards the office door. Halfway there he recognized the young man working in the bay to his right and turned in that direction until he stood at the side of Tony Ballard.

  Tony looked up from his work with surprise. He was obviously flustered as he spoke. “Dr. Kirkham, It’s a surprise to see you here.”

  “I was in hopes we might visit for a few minutes. Can you take a break?”

  “Yah, sure, except there’s not much chance for privacy around here.”

  “How would it be if we sat in my car?”

  “Yah, that’d be fine.” Tony laid his tools down, wiped his hands on a grease cloth, and after hollering to a colleague that he would be back in a few minutes, followed Paul back to his car.

  “I’ve missed you in class,” said Paul, once they were sitting side by side.

  It was an awkward moment for Tony, and he answered with some embarrassment. “Yah, well, … you see, I had to drop out of school. There were a lot of personal things and I really got behind with my studies. It just seemed like the best thing to do.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Jill’s death.”

  The mention of Jill rattled Tony who tripped over his own words as he answered nervously. “Yah, it was … it was really a horrible thing. I was shocked that … I mean, I could never have imagined that she would do something like that.”

  “It must have been especially tough for you, caring for her the way you did.”

  Tony closed his eyes and laid his head back on the car seat. “You’re right about that. … I just keep asking myself over and over if I could have somehow stopped it from happening.”

  “That’s the thing that makes tragedies like this doubly difficult. You have to fight off the tendency to hold yourself responsible.”

  Tony nodded, his eyes still closed. “But maybe she would still be alive if I had handled things differently.”

  “You have to be careful about those kinds of feelings. There has been enough pain and heartache without your adding to it by condemning yourself. If anybody wanted the best thing for Jill, it was you.”

  Tony didn’t seem to take much comfort in Paul’s reassurance. “She kept changing her mind about what to do,” he said, turning now to look directly at Paul. “At first she kept saying that an abortion was the only way to handle things, and then she said she would never be able to do it, that it would be killing the baby. She was so scared that day I took her to see the doctor. I think she was still trying to make up her mind to go through with things. She wasn’t like herself – not like I’ve ever known her to be. She was usually so confident about everything, but she just kept on crying. I told her that she had to go through with it, that it was the only way to get back to a normal life again.

  “When we got to the clinic I wasn’t allowed to wait for her there. They said someone would call me when she was ready to go home. Then, afterwards I could hardly get her to talk. She just seemed so far away. I tried to make her feel better but nothing helped. I thought maybe she was angry with me, but the longer I was with her that night, the more I could tell that it was something a lot deeper than that. It was as if she had become a mechanical person without the ability to think for herself. I kept fatherasking her if she was in pain or if she wanted me to do something for her, but she didn’t want to talk. She told me to leave her alone – that she was OK. It was strange, like she had become a different person. I tried to see her the next day but she wouldn’t come out of her room at the sorority house. She wouldn’t talk to anybody. I kept calling on the phone, but she wouldn’t talk to me.

  “I felt awful. I couldn’t eat or sleep or do anything. When I went a second time to see her, one of the girls told me what had happened. … I think that was the worst day of my life.” Tony fell silent as he gazed vacantly at the dashboard clock in front of him.

  Paul now posed his all-important question, one which brought Tony back to reality. “How much do other people know about your involvement with all of this?”

  “I’ve not said anything to anybody, if that’s what you mean. Jill’s father hammered me pretty hard but I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “What do you mean, he hammered you?”

  “He came to my place and wanted to talk. We went for a ride and he kept throwing questions at me. It’s a bad thing to have to tell so many lies. I could tell that he didn’t think I had anything to do with Jill’s being pregnant even though he asked me some pointed questions. He knew that she didn’t have that kind of interest in me.” This open acknowledgement of his defeat as a suitor was obviously still painful for Tony. “But one thing is certain,” he added, “her dad is looking for someone to punish for what happened.”

  “Did he ask you if Jill had visited with me?”

  “Yah, as a matter of fact, he did. I couldn’t figure out how he knew anything about that.”

  “And what did you tell him.”

  “I didn’t tell him anything. I played dumb.”

  Paul breathed an almost audible sigh of relief. “I know it’s hard for you, but when it comes right down to it, Tony, the most important thing you can do right now is to protect yourself. You can’t bring her back and you do have your own future to think about.”

  “What can they do to me if they find out?”

  “You didn’t break the law, Tony, but people would be willing to pile up black marks by your name. Your greatest enemy right now is Jill’s father – you need to stay away from him.”

  “You don’t think he suspects that …”

  “No, I don’t. You’ve already been through the Fairclough fire without getting burned. But still, keep your distance. Most importantly, don’t say anything to anybody about your involvement in all of this. A public scandal and the wrath of the Faircloughs would simply involve too high a price for you at this stage of your life. And Tony, let me assure you that I’ll not say or do anything that will hurt you.”

  Tony nodded his head in gratitude.

  “I wish I could assure you that the matter is finished, but
unfortunately there will likely be a thorough investigation. You may still have to undergo some questioning by the authorities. Are you up to that?”

  “I guess I’ll have to be,” said Tony, ruefully.

  “And I suppose they’ll come camping on my doorstep as well,” said Paul, as if he were adding an afterthought to their conversation.

  “Why would they do that?”

  “People know that the two of you were taking a class from me.”

  “But why would they think that you had anything to do with Jill’s death?”

  “Tony, I was willing to help Jill that day the two of you came to my office, and I’m willing to help you protect yourself in the days ahead, but if people ever find out about that visit, they would make it as hot for me as they would for you. They’ll want to make me responsible for her decision to have the abortion in the first place”

  “No one will ever find out.”

  “Did either you or Jill ever tell anybody you had scheduled an appointment with me?”

  “I didn’t, and I can’t imagine that Jill would have told anybody – unless it might have been her roommate,” he added after turning the question over in his mind. “The two of them were really close.”

  “Do you think Jill may have talked to anybody after our session together?”

  “No, I’m sure she didn’t. We talked about how important it was to keep things confidential after we left your office that day. We promised each other we wouldn’t say anything.”

  Having accomplished the purpose of his visit, Paul now began to wind down this delicate conversation. “This has all been pretty tough for you, Tony. If people start badgering you and you need to talk, just know that I’m available.” Paul took a business card from his wallet and gave it to Tony. “Here are my office and home phone numbers. If you need me, give me a call. And if you can’t reach me at either of these numbers, there’s also a number for the Psychology Department listed there. Ask for Maureen and leave a message for me to call you. She’ll know how to reach me and I’ll get back to you right away.”

  Tony took the card gratefully and after a few minutes of visiting about less uncomfortable things, Paul was on his way. He had another important stop to make in El Cajon.

  Paul had never been to Jerry Warren’s place even though there had been many invitations. But today it was important that they visit. As Paul drove from the road to the broad side of the building he saw Jerry’s car parked there, together with a nearby motorcycle. Paul knew Jerry would be busy at his printing press, grinding out tomorrow’s edition of “The Student Voice.” He pushed the buzzer alongside the door, but there was no response. He could hear the noise of the press and was not surprised that the regular cadence of the press drowned out most other sounds. He peered through a small window in the door and saw no one in the entryway just beyond the door. Trying the door, he found it open and entered. The corrugated metal roof of Jerry’s Quonset type building caught the rays of the low-hanging afternoon sun and radiated them inward with the heat of a furnace. El Cajon was just far enough inland to be much more dry and hot than San Diego with its year-round pleasant climate.

  Paul found himself in an unfinished waiting room of sorts. It had obviously been framed and sheet-rocked by an amateur, and as yet had not been painted. The floor was concrete and the ceiling had been wired for a light fixture that had not yet been installed. The furniture in the room consisted of a sofa that had seen better days, a dusty end table with a lamp on it, and several mismatched, straight-backed chairs. On a scratched and bruised coffee table in the middle of the floor there was a large glass bottle containing bills and coins of various denominations. A slot had been cut in the metal lid where visitors could make donations to help cover publication expenses for “The Voice.”

  To the left was a doorway, without a door, and an adjoining room that was apparently intended to be an office. Here there was a desk, a chair, and two metal filing cabinets. The walls on either side of the desk were covered with shelving that went from the floor to the ceiling. The shelves contained a variety of periodicals as well as past issues of “The Voice.” There were also numerous textbooks and reference works dealing with a variety of subjects, but heavily accentuating political theory and philosophy. Among these was Jerry’s bible, Das Kapital by Karl Marx.

  Paul opened the door opposite the one he had entered and saw that it led to the print shop area. Here Jerry, Kristel, and another student he did not know were busy at work. The small offset press was a far cry from the elaborate machinery used in the publication of daily newspapers such as the Tribune, but was still impressive when compared with most student enterprises. It produced one page at a time from thin metal plates bearing photographed text images. The one-sided copy then had to be subjected to a second run for the reverse side. The collating and folding were accomplished manually.

  As Paul approached the three, Jerry looked up in surprise and beamed with satisfaction. “Well, it’s about time,” he barked, so as to be heard above the clatter of the machinery. “You’ve been promising to come out here for over a year.”

  “I need to talk to you,” said Paul, straining to be heard.

  Jerry turned to Kristel and the other student. “Can the two of you take over here while I talk to the Prof?”

  Both acknowledged Paul’s presence and nodded in response to the request. Jerry wiped his hands on his Levi’s, then led the way through the work area and across the concrete floor to another door leading to that portion of the building which had been constructed as a much nicer and completely carpeted living area. Once inside he closed the door and the sound of the press became barely audible through the well-insulated walls of Jerry’s living room. In contrast to the makeshift appearance of the rest of the building, this area had been carefully finished, furnished, and decorated.

  With interest, Paul surveyed what he saw. Things had a garish and sensual appearance, ready for the lighting effects and musical background that would bring the whole atmosphere to life. Jerry motioned to a lounging chair and Paul sat down. Likewise, taking a seat, Jerry initiated the conversation.

  “What’s up, man? What brings you all the way out here?”

  “I had an interesting talk with Michaelson earlier this morning,” said Paul, plunging into the subject that had preoccupied him throughout the day.

  “Oh, Yeah? And what did the old buzzard have to say?”

  “He and the Trustees want me out of here! I’m to appear before a Faculty Board of Inquiry to answer charges of unethical conduct.”

  “You’re kidding me,” said Jerry who appeared to be dumbfounded.

  “It’ll have all the show of a parade, Jerry. And after they have paid lip service to academic freedom and the rights of professorial tenure, I’ll be dismissed and barred from teaching here in California.”

  Paul’s words ignited Jerry. He sprang to his feet, angrily muttering a few well-chosen expletives. “And what brought this on?” he asked with incredulity.

  “Some criticism of my teaching by important people – too much salt and pepper, I guess, particularly on the topic of abortion.”

  Jerry began pacing about the room in an agitated manner. “Yeah, Michaelson, that’s your style all right – afraid of ideas on a college campus!”

  “What do you know about a sorority girl by the name of Fairclough who recently committed suicide after having an abortion?”

  “I heard a little about it. Why?”

  “Well, it turns out that the girl was a niece to one of the Trustees. She was also one of my students – got the message?”

  “I’ll tell you something, Paul, it’s Michaelson, not you, that ought to be shipped out of here. There are a lot of people that have about had it with that old mossback conservative.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking since I left his office. What do you think, Jerry, could we pull that off? Could we move him out?”

  Jerry turned and looked at Paul, a glimmer of understanding apparen
t in his face. “So, what have you got cooking?”

  Paul spoke in a slow calculated manner. Beneath his ice-cold words was the hot anger of resentment and the steel-clad determination to retaliate he had brought with him from the president’s office. “Some time ago you spoke of a student strike and some demonstrations that would make things hot for Michaelson. Have you done any further thinking about that?”

  “I’m way ahead of you, Doc. We’ve got the key people lined up and all kinds of juicy plans. In fact, I was hoping to talk to you about the best timing for this thing. All we need is a week’s notice and we’ll be ready to go. I guarantee that we’ll be able to give the ‘old man’ something to think about when it comes to academic freedom.”

  “I think there ought to be an ultimatum for the top brass to chew on,” added Paul. “Either they call this witch hunt off or things get so explosive that Michaelson and the Trustees will wish they’d never picked up such a hot potato. I want the pressure to be so great and the noise to be so loud they’ll all have regrets.”

  “We’re both singing from the same sheet of music, man. I’ll get right on it.”

  “If you can whip up some action on your end, I have some plans of my own for the Faircloughs, they’re the people who are pulling the strings. I think I know how to give them a taste of their own medicine.” Paul was now on his feet and as the two men stood face to face, he grimly delivered the rest of his mandate. “But one thing I want, Jerry. If I go down, I want Michaelson’s head, whatever the cost! If it takes a month of student riots, let’s do it. I want things so hot that the trustees won’t be willing to keep Michaelson’s administration afloat. That’s what I’m asking you to do, Jerry.”

  Jerry’s acquiescence was immediate. After all, this was his kind of business. The request came as music to his ears. “You want it, you got it,” said Jerry with a sardonic smile. “When do you want the fireworks to start?”