Resolve (10 page)

I clocked in at just over four hours, and Kaitlyn was there at the finish line to support me. She handed me a Gatorade and, in her typically cuddly manner, asked me why I didn’t finish with a better time. We exchanged smiles, and then I threw up right next to her feet.

True love is something you can’t hold in.

“Dean Silo will see you now,” announced the gargoyle perched at the desk outside the Office of Academic Affairs.

Ms. Beatrice Holbrook was a cliché, wrapped around a banality, and boxed up into an ugly stereotype. The administrative assistant was the cagey, uptight gatekeeper for Dean Clyde Silo. If it was the dean’s intention to use her to filter out the more trifling problems of staff members and students, the sixty-five-year-old jagged splinter of a woman was perfect for the job. Even if a visitor could possibly withstand her scouring stare, flattened nose, and alien ears, her medieval torture device of a personality was sure to make the strongest of constitutions burst into flames and scatter like a pile of dry ashes.

The hard wooden chair in the waiting area groaned with appreciation as I got up from it. As uncomfortable as that chair had been for the past half-hour, it seemed a better prospect than having to walk past Beatrice’s desk on my way to Silo’s office. I smoothed out my sport coat and made my way past her lair.

“Don’t be too long in there. He’s a very busy man and cannot be bothered with frivolities. You understand?”

I really didn’t have any say in how long this would take, but I was not going to argue the point. And had she just called me a frivolity?

“I’ll do my best,” I said in my most courteous tone. “How are you today?”

“See that you do,” she hissed without responding to my question.

I felt the sudden urge to get a tetanus shot.

I grabbed the unwieldy iron knob on Silo’s door and passed through the portal. Glancing above the frame as I entered, I half expected to see the words
ABANDON
ALL
HOPE
,
YE
WHO
ENTER
HERE
scorched atop the passageway.

After telling Kaitlyn everything the previous Friday, I busied myself through the weekend on household jobs I had been putting off. It helped my productivity level that watching television wasn’t an option. I made a few attempts at turning on the TV but Lindsay’s murder was on every newscast. Every station was using some file photo the university must have given them. The same photo was in the newspapers as well, only in black and white. She looked a couple of years younger, and her hair was dark brown with a red streak down the left side. She looked more innocent, but there was a hint of rebellion in her eyes. I guessed that the photo was probably from her freshman year when she had it taken for her student ID. She must have decided later that Lindsay—the college woman—was going to be a blonde.

To take my mind off of everything, and to avoid the temptation to run on my rest day, Sigmund and I spent all of Saturday putting shelves up in the basement and fixing a broken electrical outlet. Kaitlyn worked on potting a bunch of plants, or herbs, or something else, that would eventually be put into her garden.

An eleven-mile run on Sunday morning made me feel docile, so I shocked my wife by volunteering to go to IKEA with her to look at some furniture for our guest bedroom. I truly hate that place. It’s a maze of random furnishings and knickknacks that sit under large blue signs promising to show you a shortcut out of there. But the shortcuts are nothing more than subterfuges that guide the mice down another path, where two dollar ultramodern shoe horns are on display next to house slippers that look like cartoon frogs. My personal cheese at the end of the corporate labyrinth is in the form of their giant cinnamon rolls that are sold next to the checkout lines. But, even with that incentive, getting me to go into the place usually takes an act of divine intervention. I figured the angrier I got at navigating the maze, and the more I wanted a cinnamon roll, the less I would think about facing the consequences of my error.

Silo was sitting behind his oversized desk, thumbing through a pile of printouts covered with numbers and littered with Post-it notes. When I released the office door to let it close behind me, the latch produced a violent scrape and agitating clicking noise when it returned to its original position. My shoes double-tapped across the unexpressive walnut floor as my heels and toes held muted, but audible conversations. Ignoring the noises, the head of the Academic Affairs department didn’t look up from the papers until I was standing in front of his desk.

“Have a seat, Dr. Keller.”

“Please, it’s Cyprus,” I corrected him while falling into an oversized leather chair that made me feel like a child sinking into a cardboard box packed with Styrofoam peanuts.

The dean hadn’t bothered to stand or attempt a handshake. I think it made him self-conscious. He was a diminutive, unattractive man, who didn’t do himself any favors by wearing suits much too big for him. Today’s suit looked like something he was either married in decades ago, or that someone else had been buried in. His puppet-like hands peeked out of wrinkled sleeves. Luckily, some attention was drawn away from his elfish stature by the way he attempted to cover a formidable bald spot by combing over a few wisps of hair that were the shade of dirty snow.

Silo was partially a product of the already screwed-up mentality of the school and his office was legendary for a singular reason. It was in that very room where, just prior to the crash of ’29, the incident occurred when several members of Henry Gadson’s little cult decided to hold an impromptu ceremony in the founder’s office while the school’s founder was out of town. Apparently, one of the more robust ladies involved had been well lubricated by both spirits and a special body oil when she began leaning toward and staring into one of the surrounding candles, while reciting some words originally spoken by some guy named Parmenides. It turned out that the ceremonial oil had a disturbing reaction to flames. To their credit, the rest of the nutbag battalion tried to put the poor woman out. But, with their hands and faces besmeared with the same oil, the result was predictable. Nobody actually died during the bonfire of the idiots, but the cult members had seen the light, so to speak, and permanently retreated to their mansions to heal their egos and numerous second-degree burns.

“Dr. Kasko has filled me in on what transpired last week. I can’t say I’m happy about the situation. You do realize that we cannot have members of our faculty revealing the personal aspects of our students’ lives? Regardless of how you feel about the young man’s sexual orientation, discussing it in public is totally unacceptable.”

The way
I feel
about his sexuality? Silo’s words almost shuffled past me in the crowd of verbiage because of the distracting way he spoke. He had the annoying habit of creating a part-slurping and part-smacking sound with his lips and tongue between each sentence. The first time I met him, I wasn’t ready for this maddening tendency, and I instinctively wanted to shield my irises from the piece of gum that was sure to fly out.

“Wait a second. There seems to be some misunderstanding. I don’t
feel
any particular way about Steven’s sexual orientation. In fact, if I have any
feeling
about it whatsoever, it’s in a supportive way. He has the right to be with whomever he chooses as far as I’m concerned.”

The dean pushed a pair of bifocals up and further exposed an accusing nose.

Twisting side to side while trying to sit up in my flimsy throne, I explained myself further. “What happened was a complete accident and I was trying to help Steven. The police had the wrong idea about him and Ms. Behram. I certainly didn’t have any malicious intent.”

“That’s not really the point is it, Dr. Keller?”

“It’s Cyp—” I was cut off by the preamble of a sucking click on his lips.

“You have put the university in an unfortunate position. As faculty members, we have a solemn responsibility to uphold the absolute highest standards of personal and professional conduct. Three Rivers University has always prided itself on being able to provide a first-class education and consistently attract the best professors and students. Being a part of the TRU family means putting aside your personal feelings regarding the lifestyles of others and accepting everyone for who they are. I have to say that I’m disappointed in your narrow-mindedness.”

I reached up to check if blood was coming out of my ears. Maybe I had suffered a stroke when I had to deal with the Queen of Darkness in the waiting area. If there was an upside to his insulting me, it was that it prevented tears of laughter from forming in my eyes after his acid-trip description of TRU.

Remembering Kaitlyn’s counsel to be on my best behavior, I unclenched my jaw and stated slowly, “Dean Silo, I don’t think you’re hearing me. I don’t care about Steven being gay. I wouldn’t care if he were straight. I wouldn’t care if he were a bisexual hermaphrodite nymphomaniac who enjoys cross-dressing and singing ‘Careless Whisper’ on Tuesday nights.” I managed to move myself to the front of the absurd chair and grip the ends of the arms. “I made an error in the heat of the moment and I’ll be happy to apologize to him.” Then I recalled that this entire exercise might be a moot point.

“Has Steven filed a complaint? Has he even heard about this?”

Silo leaned back smugly, and crossed one leg over the other.

He said, “Not yet. But as you know this is a small campus with a close-knit student body. I cannot imagine that this will remain quiet.”

Putting both feet back on the floor, he leaned forward and picked up a silver pen from his desk. Pointing to some marks in a small appointment book in front of him he explained, “In fact, rather than wait on anything official, I’ve spoken to Mr. Thacker and asked him to come here this afternoon. I will explain to him what happened, inform him of his options regarding filing an official grievance against you, and allow him time to choose a course of action.” The left lens of his glasses rose slightly along with that corner of his mouth. “If Mr. Thacker feels that there is some way the university can address this issue to his satisfaction, then of course I will have to take that into consideration.”

The translation was easy. Silo was going to make sure that Steven would say that he would pursue legal action against the school unless I was fired. He was going to portray me as a loudmouthed homophobe who had it in for Steven. Then, the dean could convince the Criminology department’s faculty members that they had no choice but to let me go. Silo would be rid of me, all consciences would be clear, and all involved could take credit for saving the university from being dragged through courtrooms for years to come. I was even willing to bet Silo would find some way to reward Steven for his understanding and cooperation. Perfect.

“Of course, I will let you know the outcome of my meeting with Mr. Thacker. In the meantime, I would advise you to refrain from having any contact with him. I believe your next Victimology class is not until late morning tomorrow, correct? So, I’ll be sure to call you or send you an email by the end of business today.” Silo said all of this while scrutinizing a loose thread that protruded from one of the buttons on his suit jacket.

“You can’t be serious about this. If I can just talk to Steven, I—”

“You are to have no contact with Mr. Thacker!” The lip smacking became deafening. “You have put the university in enough peril and you have proven that you cannot be prudent with your words, Dr. Keller.”

“Cyprus.”

“Stay away from Mr. Thacker and let the university handle this. This is not some back alley in Boston where you can try to strong-arm some witness into changing his testimony!”

“Baltimore.”

“I tried to warn the hiring panel when you first showed up on our radar. The top professionals in academia do not cut their teeth by writing speeding tickets and flying informants.”

“Running informants.”

“Whatever. You never had the pedigree or temperament for academia, and unfortunately for you it has finally come to light.”

Silo twirled the pen in his hand and his gaze fell to his calendar book. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have another meeting to attend to—
Cyprus.”
He pronounced my first name like it was an infection.

I slowly rose to leave.

“It’s Dr. Keller. And fuck you.”

Walking toward my office, I weighed my options. I could resign and try to cut my losses, but there were too many questions left unanswered. Had Steven heard about what I had done? Was he the vindictive type? I mean, I didn’t think he was ever going to want to be my best friend or anything, but I never felt as if he particularly disliked me. Would Steven let himself be manipulated by the dean? I could easily see Steven telling Silo to go stick it once he realized he was being used as a pawn.

No. I couldn’t quit. Not with this many uncertainties. The prospect of not having a paycheck was daunting as well. Kaitlyn and I do pretty well, but not
that
well. And sitting around and waiting was never my thing. A preemptive strike was in order, so I picked up my pace and made a beeline for my office door. As soon as I made it to my desk, I reached for my Blackberry. By my Blackberry I mean my desk drawer full of scraps of paper. Due to my exceptionally well-designed organizational system, in a matter of minutes I was able to find a handwritten note that had Steven’s name and phone number on it. As I stabbed the numbers on the phone’s keypad, I read the rest of what was on the piece of paper, and allowed myself an inner cheer for still having a valid coupon for the oil change and transmission place in the North Hills area.

If I could catch Steven before his meeting with Silo, then at least I could explain the situation. The Criminology faculty members didn’t exactly love Silo, so if he wanted to get me fired for disobeying his orders and contacting Steven, then he would have a tough climb.

The phone rang several times until a machine picked up. Steven’s voice told me to leave a message and he would call me back. I pressed down on the protruding square where the handset had been sitting and dialed the number again. Same number of rings, same result. Hanging up the phone, I sat atop my desk pondering my next move. Remembering that I had scheduled office hours starting in a few minutes, I jumped up, grabbed a blank sheet of paper from my printer tray and used a black marker to write a message announcing my office hours had been canceled. I snatched a roll of tape from the top of a cabinet, hung the sign up on the hallway side, then closed and locked my door.