Burnside guffawed. “Oh, please. You want us to believe a girl would make up a story that could actually damage her reputation.”
Gen glanced toward Ursula, whose head bobbed to urge her on.
“Lee-Anne saw an opportunity to get out of some trouble,” Gen continued. “She needed her parents to pull her out of school—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “She’s pregnant.”
The provost sat up straighter at that bit of news, and Burnside tapped his pen against his legal pad. “This is preposterous,” the lawyer said. “I don’t believe a word. Counselor, you should be ashamed to let your client spread idle gossip.”
“My client got it from the girl herself,” Ursula said, “and they had a witness.”
“And who was that?”
“Dr. Ruby Woods,” Ursula explained. “The highest-ranking female faculty member at Baines. You already interviewed her, Dean Rolfe, but she says she’s happy to testify again.”
The provost steepled his hands in front of his mouth before speaking. “Why would the girl have to concoct such an elaborate ruse for leaving school?”
“She panicked.” Gen caught a glimpse of Juliet’s ring, shimmering on her finger. “She needed to get away from campus, and that was the surest way she could see. The baby’s father is a professor at Baines, her adviser, and she needed to stop what was going on. I—”
“Enough,” the provost said, popping out of his chair. “Mrs. Werner, Dr. Rider, I don’t know what game you’re playing here.”
Gen’s lips tightened at the irony of his words, almost identical to what Henry Thoms had said when confronted about Lee-Anne.
“The professor is Henry Thoms,” Gen said. “He’s admitted a sexual relationship with Lee-Anne, although he claims it was consensual. That she started it. Lee-Anne remembers it differently.” She paused to pace herself, as she and Ursula had discussed. “I’m sure Baines parents would love to read in the morning paper about the perils awaiting their daughters here from the male faculty.”
The provost’s face reddened. “I don’t like threats.”
“No more than I like being suspended, my name dragged through the mud, and my livelihood taken away when it was in fact another professor who molested a student and left her to face the consequences.”
The provost’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Molest is a harsh word. These students are young women, not children. Some of them are, shall we say, flirtatious. Students have dalliances with the faculty all the time—the men, I mean—almost like a rite of passage. Do I approve? Of course not. Can I stop it?” He shrugged.
“Henry Thoms is up for J. Montgomery Cash Distinguished Professor,” the dean added.
“There, you see,” the provost said, as if the dean had proven something. He checked his watch again. Gen held her breath, waiting for him to end the meeting by firing her. Instead, he swatted his hand toward Burnside.
“Mr. Burnside will be in touch with you, Mrs. Werner, to discuss your terms. In the meantime, I would like your assurance that you won’t discuss the matter with the press.”
Ursula deferred to Gen, who nodded numbly. “Your terms” meant the plan had worked, or so it seemed. Distinguished professor candidate Henry Thoms might be as good as gone.
Ramsey exited quickly, with Kathy trailing behind him.
As the rest of them gathered up their folders to leave, Burnside said, “Well played, Mrs. Werner, Dr. Rider.”
Gen escaped the meeting first. She waited for Ursula on the porch of Old Main, settling into one of the white rocking chairs lined up there. The melodic crick-crack of the chair worked like magic to slow her heartbeat.
Ursula emerged from Old Main a few minutes behind her, brandishing Burnside’s business card. “Well, I’d say that went well,” the lawyer said with a lavish grin. “Treat yourself to a cocktail tonight and draw up a list of what you’re looking for. We can go over it tomorrow. Obviously you want your life back, and as soon as possible.”
Your life back echoed in the empty quad. What would that life look like?
Chapter Forty-One
Gen
Gen clicked on the TV. She’d first tuned in to To Tell the Truth on Fenton’s recommendation, and now watching had become habit, a perfect distraction. Four celebrity panelists made wry observations as they tried to guess which of three “challengers” was telling the truth about an occupation or life experience.
It turned out that Juliet loved the show, too, and before she left for Wilmington they had several times called each other to view it together. Juliet had watched it for years, and even had a favorite contestant—the scratchy-voiced Peggy Cass with her delightful Boston accent.
“Wouldn’t it be a hoot if sometime they invited the person who wrote Girls’ Dormitory to be a challenger?” Juliet had said. “I bet the author’s a housewife in Peoria.”
“Or a professor moonlighting,” Gen said, and Juliet liked that hunch even better.
Some weeks the challengers were more interesting, like when Wilma Rudolph, the Negro runner, appeared. Even though Rudolph had won three gold medals at the 1960 Olympics, the white panel had no idea what she looked like.
This week the challengers were all white. The show’s host read the affidavit for three women all claiming to be a cat breeder. The breeder’s fluffy, medal-winning angora served as a prop but kept trying to jump out of the host’s lap. Gen wondered if the cat would accidentally reveal the woman’s identity and ruin the game.
When she heard the rat-a-tat at the door, her heart skipped. Juliet’s beaming smile met hers in the doorframe, and Gen hugged her without considering which neighbors might see them. Then she drew Juliet inside and kissed her, warming her cold lips.
“You’re just in time for round two,” Gen said when they pried their lips apart. “A cat breeder.”
“I prefer dogs, but cats it is.”
She took Juliet’s suitcase and helped her strip off her coat and scarf. “How was the bus? You know I would’ve driven to Richmond to get you. You must be hungry. I’ve got pot pies in the oven. Do you like beef? I wasn’t sure.”
“Take it easy, darling.” Juliet took her face between her hands and surveyed it. “The bus was fine, and I liked having the chance to stop overnight with my cousin. And beef pot pie sounds divine.”
The gentle action and words slowed Gen down. They sat side by side on the sofa, holding hands.
“Granny’s ring looks right on you,” Juliet commented, examining the hand entwined with hers. “I don’t think I’ll take it back.”
“You’ll have to stay close, then. You might need its magic powers.”
The shrill oven timer interrupted their kiss, and Gen popped up to get their meal, which she set out on TV trays.
As they ate, their eyes wandered to the screen but neither paid attention to the cat breeder for long. After a few bites, Juliet addressed the obvious.
“So, tomorrow,” she said. “How are you?”
“Nervous. Ursula seems confident, though.” Gen sat back, her pot pie only partially eaten. “It isn’t fair that I might get to keep my job and you lost yours.”
Juliet waved her fork over her plate. “It had to be done,” she said. “I couldn’t keep quiet while you were raked over the coals.”
“But you hurt yourself, and it didn’t even help my case.”
Juliet examined a forkful of pot pie, then set it back on her plate. Her brow creased. “It did help,” she said. “It got rid of that business about kissing a student, didn’t it? And as far as hurting myself?” She shrugged. “Looking back, I think I was ready to be done with all of it.”
Gen searched Juliet’s eyes for clues that she was holding something back, not being truthful, but she couldn’t find any. She remembered that even before they became lovers, Juliet expressed dissatisfaction with academia and a willingness to try something different if she didn’t get tenure.
“So, you’ll try to teach in Wilmington?”
Juliet shook her hea
d with force. “I’m just at my folks’ to regroup until I find something totally new. I read Spanish and Italian, too, and my Russian’s passable. A grad school friend gave me a lead on translation work.” She paused, her eyes on her tray. “It’d mean another move.”
Wilmington was already so far from Springboro—five or six hours by car and, without the inevitable delays, twelve hours with two transfers on the bus. “Where to?”
The question hung between them for a moment before Juliet sighed and answered, “New York.”
Gen deflated. She had just settled into the idea of having a new relationship, and it was being ripped away. “Oh,” she said, making swift calculations in her head—a longer trip than from Wilmington, although there might be train service.
“I know it’s not ideal,” Juliet said. “We wouldn’t see each other very often. I’d totally understand if it wasn’t something you wanted to do.”
Juliet had worn her hair loose and as she dipped her head blond waves fell over her right cheek and eye like a mask. Gen brushed them behind her ear with a couple of strokes. She needed to see if Juliet was trying to tell her something—that she herself didn’t see a way forward for them or, worse, that she didn’t want one. Memories of Carolyn resurfaced, the way she’d sprung her move to Maryland on Gen with no warning. But now Gen didn’t read duplicity in Juliet, just sadness.
“It might not even happen, you know.”
Gen’s next words were hard to get out, but she managed. “And if it does, you should absolutely snap it up. Sounds like a real opportunity.”
Juliet’s eyes brimmed over, and she refocused on her tray, repeatedly poking her fork into the pot pie. “You let go of me awfully fast,” she said as she stabbed at the crust. “Thanks for telling me where I stand.”
Gen reached over and gently stopped the pot pie massacre. “Juliet, you gave up everything to help me. What am I supposed to say? Give up more? Don’t go?” She paused before adding the question she hadn’t dared to ask. “Come back?”
Tears spilled onto Juliet’s tray. “You know that’s impossible. Even if you get your job back, they’re going to watch you like a hawk.”
Gen returned her hand to her lap and twisted Juliet’s sapphire ring. “Obviously, you want your life back,” Ursula had said, and Gen had agreed that regaining her position at Baines was of utmost importance in the negotiation. She wanted everything she deserved—her job, her reputation, her standing in the department, her dignity—that had been taken from her.
But even if she could regain her old life, that meant she’d continue to sacrifice privacy. Juliet was right: The administration was sure to watch her even more closely than before, waiting for her to fumble. Ursula had already warned her of the unlikelihood that Henry Thoms would be punished in any way. “They can’t afford to look at any of the male faculty too closely.”
The fabric of Gen’s professional life had frayed, the threads loosening like in the old Persian carpet in her office, so worn in spots she could almost see the floorboards. Now, she coaxed Juliet’s head onto her shoulder and they sat coiled together as the TV screen flickered.
✥ ✥ ✥
In the lobby of the law firm, Ursula folded her arms in front of her and glanced from Gen to Juliet and back again.
“Dr. May, I assume,” she said, extending a hand slowly toward Juliet. “I’ll try not to keep Dr. Rider long, if you’d like to wait out here. I can have my secretary bring you some coffee—”
“Juliet’s with me,” Gen interrupted.
Ursula’s lips stiffened, but she didn’t demur. She led them back to her office, clicking the door behind them.
“It’s not what we wanted,” the attorney said when she was seated behind her desk. “They’re worried that parents think women like you are waiting to prey on their daughters.”
The phrase “women like you” jolted Gen. Ursula had never treated her like a freak, but now she appeared to view her differently because she was part of a couple.
The attorney jotted notes onto a legal pad, ripped off the top sheet, and handed it across the desk to Gen. “So the administration wants you to go away.”
The college was offering to pay her to leave—two years’ salary, paid monthly, and an expunging of the investigation’s records, as long as she left town and didn’t talk to the Gazette.
Gen’s palms felt slick, and she passed the sheet to Juliet.
“Now they’re not going to budge on your job,” Ursula pointed out when Gen didn’t respond. “What we can do—what I’d recommend—is threaten a defamation suit and try to get that figure up. Given there’s no hard evidence and Lee-Anne Blakeney’s willing to retract her testimony, we’d try to boost the offer to more years. But it could take time.”
Gen threw a sideways glance at Juliet. Like Ursula, she was staring at her, waiting for a reaction. “You’ve got time,” Juliet pointed out.
“If you can manage financially a while longer,” Ursula added.
After three months without pay, cash was tight. She’d run through most of her savings paying Ursula, and the contributions from the female faculty covered rent but not much more. Both Ruby and Fenton had offered her small loans, but she hadn’t accepted them yet. Another month or two and she’d be forced to move in with her parents in Charlotte—although she hadn’t figured out what reason she’d give them for leaving her job.
Gen’s stomach burned. If she said yes to either plan, it was like accepting that women could be ruined because of rumors, but the proven misconduct of men would be swept under the carpet. Henry Thoms would remain in his job without even a slap on the wrist; in fact, he’d likely be rewarded with an advance to Distinguished Professor.
But then, that wasn’t news. Gen knew about inequality. She’d spent her career studying how Negroes fared in a white-majority society. Her experience at Baines didn’t even approach what Negroes had endured, but the offer still stank.
An idea hit her, but she didn’t voice it. Instead, after a long pause, Gen said, “I’ll take the offer, but I want the money in a lump sum. I don’t want to keep in touch with them for two years. I’ll resign when I get a check, and I won’t talk to the Gazette. They’ll destroy any evidence that I was ever under investigation. And they’ll give me an apology in writing.”
Ursula shook her head slowly. “I doubt we’ll get any apology. That’s an admission.”
“Doesn’t hurt to put it out there.”
Ursula advised her to think on it more, to sleep on the idea of a defamation suit, but Gen refused to consider it. “I’m done,” she said.
Juliet was quiet as they left the firm and approached Gen’s car. She surveyed the quaint street, the red-brick buildings from another era, as if she wanted to stay awhile.
“We could have lunch,” Gen said, nodding across the street to a diner.
Juliet took a deep breath. “I don’t want lunch,” she said. “Why didn’t you fight? Ursula wanted you to. I wanted you to. You gave them everything, even the part about talking to the press.”
Gen unlocked the passenger door. “You know how you said you wanted something totally new? It turns out I do, too,” she said. “And they only said I couldn’t talk to the Gazette. Nobody reads that little rag anyway.”
Juliet smiled, slid the keys from her hand, and relocked the door. “Let’s get lunch.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Lee-Anne
Lee-Anne’s parents outlined her only option; it wasn’t a choice. She would remain at home until May, covering her bulging stomach with big sweaters and smocks and staying out of the public eye. In her final trimester, her father would transport her to the Florence Crittenton Home in Brighton, Massachusetts, just outside of Boston. She would remain there until she delivered the baby, which she would give up for an adoption that the home arranged.
“A child needs two parents,” her father said.
Her mother expanded on the plan, which they’d fleshed out in detail. “We’ll tell everyone you’re s
pending a year with your aunt in Boston, maybe dabbling in classes at Wellesley,” she said. “It’s only a partial lie, since Aunt Mabel’s offered to be on your visitor list.”
Lee-Anne wondered if one could “dabble” at a school as elite as Wellesley, but if she didn’t know, maybe no one else would either.
The distance between Springboro and Boston both scared and thrilled her. She’d never been further from home than Atlanta or DC, and that was back in high school. In her freshman year at Baines, she had approached her parents about spending junior year abroad in London. Susanna Carr was considering it, too, and they could travel together.
Her father swiftly burst her bubble. “You’re in college to find yourself a Davis and Lee boy,” he said.
Susanna had a cousin who’d been sent to a Crittenton home in Norfolk. Despite her being seven months pregnant, the staff put her to work scrubbing bathrooms. “Right out of Dickens or something,” Susanna said. “Plus, she had to go by a fake name. Nobody knew anybody’s real one, not even her friends.”
After hearing this dismal information, Lee-Anne asked her mother why she couldn’t move in with Aunt Mabel instead.
“Because you’re a handful and she can’t manage it,” her mother said. “She’s an old lady, and who knows what trouble you’d get into. I trusted you, Lee, but you went and broke my heart.” This last sentence came out with a little sob.
Clearly, it didn’t matter to her parents that she hadn’t asked for trouble, that she’d never been past first base until Dr. Thoms took her to second, then third.
“We had the talk when you were twelve,” her mother pointed out. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
While packing for her trip, Lee-Anne found a beat-up paperback at the bottom of her nightgown drawer. She and Susanna had each bought a pulp novel in the Roanoke bus station one day when they played hooky. They had tittered over the titles—Girls’ Dormitory and Women’s Barracks. “Lezzie stuff,” Susanna had said. The back covers hinted at what “lezzie” meant, but Lee-Anne wasn’t completely sure of the subject matter until she read the novels herself.
Testimony Page 26
