Campus confidential, p.20
Campus Confidential, page 20
“You don’t have to get an A in it,” I said as a compromise.
“But if I don’t get an A I won’t be able to get into a good MBA program!”
“Do you want to get into a good MBA program?”
She shrugged and hunched her shoulders, looking rather like Madison as she did so. She was one, maybe two semesters away from picking up a nasty drug habit like Madison as well, I judged.
“Why don’t you look into applying for a Boren Scholarship,” I said instead of voicing my real thoughts.
“Isn’t that the one where you have to agree to do government service afterwards?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t think my dad would like that,” she said doubtfully. “Although...he has suggested I consider going into politics a few times.” Her face cleared. “That’s what I’ll do! I’ll tell him I want to be a county commissioner or something like that, and I need the political experience!”
“Why stop at county commissioner?” I said. “If you get a Boren, you could end up working in DC.”
“DC! Wow! Yeah, my dad’d love that! Thanks for the idea, Professor!”
“No problem. So is your dad in politics, then?”
“What? No. My grandfather is in politics. My dad has a construction company.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, actually, it was his company that got the contract on Angelo Hall, you know, that new building that just opened this semester?”
“So he wants you to go into the family business?” I asked. “That’s why he wants you to study accounting and business.”
“Yeah, but I don’t care about construction at all. I want to do non-profit work, but he’s always like, ‘There’s no profit in non-profits,’ and starts talking about how his business paid for me to go to college, which is, like, kind of true, even though I’m on a full-ride scholarship, but it’s like he thinks if he makes me do it enough, I’ll get good at this stuff, and I just haven’t yet. I get straight As in all my Russian classes, and I can barely get a B in my business classes, even though I work twice as hard on them, I swear.”
“I believe you,” I said. “If you’re not interested in something, you’ll never really learn it.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But my dad thinks he can make me be interested in his business. Oh! Professor Cahill!”
“Mackenzie! Look at you!” A slender man with a mane of white hair that screamed “Professor,” and a beneficent look in his blue eyes, peered into the adjunct office.
“Professor Cahill, this is Professor Halley! She’s been working with me on an independent study this semester.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” The man who must have been Tom Cahill stepped all the way into the office. “I can see my students have been in very capable hands in my absence.”
“Professor Halley’s been really helpful, but we all missed you, Professor Cahill!”
“I’m very flattered to hear that.”
“And a bunch of us have signed up for that lit course in the spring!”
“I’m very flattered to hear that as well.”
“Well, I have to go,” announced Mackenzie, looking at her phone. “Thanks for the help Professor—um, Professor Halley—and good to see you, Professor Cahill!” She gathered up her laptop and her bookbag and her phone and rushed off.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know your name,” Professor Cahill said, once she was gone.
“Rowena.”
“A lovely name, but it must present some difficulties for Russian-speakers. I’m Tom.”
“Most of my Russian friends call me Inna or Innochka,” I explained.
“An elegant solution. I was just dropping by to check on my old office, and move some things in preparation for the spring semester, but I see my office is occupied and unlikely to be vacated any time soon.”
“Um...so do they have a plan for what to do with you?” I asked.
He shrugged, in an unusually supple and elegant movement for a man, especially one his age. “Not that I can ascertain. I may be joining you in—what do the adjuncts call it?—the ‘adjunct warehouse’ next semester.”
“Oh. Well...it’s not that bad. To be honest, the lack of chalk and markers is much more of a problem.”
“Indeed. If you have a moment, Rowena, I’d love to grab a coffee with you and talk about the semester and the students. You can fill me in on all the wild and exciting developments that have taken place in my absence.”
“Sure. I’m free now.”
“Have you sampled the campus Starbucks?”
“A couple of times,” I said. “It’s not as good as a regular Starbucks, is it?”
He laughed. “No. No, it isn’t. We used to have an independent coffee shop, called The Campus Grind, but there was a renovation of the library a couple of years ago, and somehow we ended up with this travesty of a Starbucks. I wouldn’t mind so much if it were a good Starbucks, since to be frank The Campus Grind served only middling coffee and stale pastries. Now we still have only middling coffee and stale pastries, but with the money going back to Seattle instead of staying here in New Jersey. But if you have a serious coffee addiction like I do, you support your dealers no matter what. Shall we?”
We walked together over from Dreme Hall to the library. Going through the department was awkward, because several people stopped and stared without saying anything, but if it bothered Tom, he didn’t show it.
Once out on the quad, he started asking me about myself, and expressed interest in Georgia, and mentioned several mutual acquaintances who were connected with the program at Indiana, and asked me about my research, and told me about his own interest in the poetry of Annensky, and generally behaved the way a colleague should, which was a refreshing change.
We got into Starbucks, and, after a long wait in line behind chattering undergrads, ordered and sat down on a rickety table that barely had room for both our cups. “So,” he asked me, his bright blue eyes fixed on my face as he stirred his coffee, “how has Madison been this semester, Rowena?”
“Ummm....”
He laughed. “That good? She was always a handful. Is she still taking cocaine?”
I looked around. No one else appeared to be paying any attention to us. “Yes,” I whispered. “She’s stopped coming to class obviously strung out of her mind, but that’s about as good as it’s gotten.”
“I’m not surprised. I didn’t expect her latest stint in rehab to take. The first one certainly didn’t.” He stirred his coffee, his face now serious.
“People can only get clean if they want to,” I said.
“And Maddie doesn’t want to yet, does she? Not that I can blame her too much. You know about her life? Her mother left the family when Maddie was in high school and ran off with her ski instructor or some such jet-set cliché. Not that I can blame her too much either. You know Maddie’s father is Provost Johnson, don’t you? Imagine coming home to him every night!” Tom gave a delicate shudder.
“He doesn’t seem that bad to me,” I said. “But I don’t know him that well. I don’t mix much with provosts.”
“And very wise of you, if I may say. Poor for the digestion, provosts, and even worse for the career, sometimes.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Poor Madison. It must be tough for her.”
“Yes, although maybe not tough enough. Maybe if it got really tough, she’d pull herself together.”
“Or maybe she’d fall apart completely,” I said. “Most people do, under pressure.”
“Too true.” He stirred his coffee some more. “I had hoped that Maddie was made of sterner stuff, however. After the whole thing with Brandy last semester...” He gave another delicate shudder, this one less theatrical and more heartfelt.
“That must have been really tough,” I said. “To lose a student like that.”
“Yes. It is. Especially when it’s a student you like so much.” He made a small frown that he couldn’t quite turn into a smile. “You know, Brandy reminded me a lot of myself at that age. Not because he was a particularly good kid, because he wasn’t, but because he was so...I don’t know. Full of everything. Full of life. Full of himself. Full of shit.” This time he managed a smile. “Brandy wasn’t a good kid, you know.”
“Yeah. I heard from Justin about the stuff that he wrote, the stuff that almost came out.”
“Yeah.” Tom picked up his coffee, thought about taking a sip, and then put it down untasted. “He came and talked to me about it, a few days before...well, you know. He confessed to everything, asked me what to do.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, when it became apparent that Tom wasn’t going to say anything more.
“For what? Brandy did what he did. It had little to do with me, and even less to do with you.”
“Yeah, but I’m sorry even so. That must have been a hard thing to deal with.”
He gave me a sharp look. “Were you a counselor in a previous career, dear Rowena?”
“Not exactly, but sort of. Enough to know how to empathize with people.”
“No, my dear. Counselors only learn how to sympathize. Empathizing is something you’ve learned on your own. And all credit to you. Because you’re right: it was hard.”
“I’m sure,” I said.
“Especially since it was all so stupid! I’m not defending what Brandy did, because it was puerile and hurtful, both the things he wrote and the way he treated Justin, who really is a good kid, but it certainly wasn’t worth dying for. It wasn’t even worth getting expelled for. A little community service or, much as it pains me to have the phrase even cross my lips, ‘sensitivity training,’ would more than suffice, it seems to me.”
“I agree,” I said. “Especially since...” I trailed off.
“Especially since the university keeps adjuncts on starvation pay and employs privately contracted cleaning staff at minimum wage with no benefits, is that what you were going to say? And—it’s so funny how this happens, isn’t it—75% or so of the adjuncts and contingent faculty are women, and 75% or so of the janitorial staff are black? And the rest are immigrants? Isn’t it funny how that works out? To be honest, I don’t know who’s the more exploited here. Both of you are being paid less than enough to live off of, for what should be more than full-time jobs. But after all, most people who go into teaching these days are idealistic young women from the middle and upper classes—like you, my dear. No doubt most of you think that this is a great career for you, one where you can live the life of the mind and make the world a better place and also be treated with respect and make a decent living. But there’s no need to pay women of that social class a living wage, is there? Because they are expected to make their real money through blow jobs and brow wipes, something their oh-so-enlightened poorer, darker sisters are only too happy to rub in their faces, while they pat themselves on the back with both hands for their third-wave feminism, or whatever stage we’ve reached now.
“And then the poor women who clean the toilets and take out the trash—why should they get a living wage? If they really wanted one, they’d go back to school and get an education, the way white middle-class girls do. Funny how you just can’t win, isn’t it? Whichever way you turn, you’re back to begging for scraps in exchange for blow jobs, literal or metaphorical. But what is that in comparison with a nineteen-year-old mouthing off in a private message forum? The former is just good business, while the latter is a serious crime.”
“I know,” I said.
“But I really shouldn’t be saying this, my dear, as you know all too well. After all, I’m grateful to be let off with nothing but a one-semester administrative suspension without pay to let the stink around the Russian program dissipate a little, and to show that they’re taking the matter seriously and punishing someone for what Brandy did, and I have every intention of slinking back obediently in January and being a good little boy. So forgive an old Marxist who doesn’t have the courage of his convictions.”
“Um, yeah,” I said.
“But you, my dear, are free. Free to starve to death, you might object, and you would be correct to do so, but still—free. You won’t be slinking back next semester, so you might as well stride out in a blaze of glory.” He gave me another bright look. “Have they been feeding you some line about expanding the program, creating a permanent position for you? Because they’ve been feeding that line to Alex for two years, and—once again it’s so funny, isn’t it?—the coveted position has as of yet failed to materialize.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know about Alex. And yeah, there have been hints, half-suggested promises, that kind of thing, but my contract expires next week and so far no one’s put their money where their mouth is.”
“Your contract expires next week? But finals are in two weeks.”
“I know. But they started my contract on September 1 and ended it on December 15, even though my actual work period goes from August 25 to December 19 or 20.”
Tom burst out laughing. “Ah, Lib State!” he said when he had recovered. “Will your avarice ever cease to amaze me? Truly, you are a wonder! And you didn’t protest it, my dear?”
“I tried,” I said. “But they obviously didn’t give a crap in HR—I mean, they’d done it on purpose—so I saw real fast it wasn’t going to do any good, so I figured I’d just...I don’t know. It wasn’t like they were going to pay me any more in any case.”
“Too true. Well, I wouldn’t slave away too hard over exams, my dear. In fact, if you want a hand, let me know.”
“Surely you have your own exams coming up? Aren’t you working at Rutgers?”
“Yes, but I’m always working at Rutgers. There wouldn’t be anything unusual about me putting in double duty. In fact, I’m rather pining for it. And for my students.”
“They all remember you fondly.”
“Do they? That’s lovely to hear. And how is Mackenzie? Did her summer in Russia do her good?”
“I think so. Her conversational ability is quite developed at this point. And she’s thinking about going back, if she can. That’s what she was talking to me about when you showed up.”
“Well, good for her. Although I can’t see her father agreeing.”
“That’s what she says. But it’s her life, not his.”
“True. But Mack D’Annunziato rarely sees it that way, about his daughter or anyone else. And neither, to be frank, does his father-in-law Vinnie Angelo, former mayor of our fair city. After whom, in case you haven’t guessed, Angelo Hall is named.”
“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t realize Mackenzie’s family was so rich.”
“They are somewhat rich in money, and much richer in connections and influence. So while I’m sure Mack D’Annunziato loves his daughter in his own way, she would be wise not to cross him—as would you, my dear.”
“I thought you said I had nothing to fear,” I said. “After all, I’m going to be riding out of here in a blaze of glory no matter what.”
“True. But until that moment, I wouldn’t get on Mackenzie’s father’s bad side.”
“Is that what happened to you?” I asked. “Is that why they sent you away?”
“Maybe,” he said. “A little. In truth, Brandy’s death was just an excuse to get me out of the way. I’d made some...unwise statements about the new building, you see, at faculty meetings. Protesting the expense, the use—misuse, as I saw it—of Superstorm Sandy money that was earmarked for rebuilding after the storm to build a brand-new, obscenely expensive, state-of-the-art building that would serve more to stroke egos than to benefit the campus community. Oh, I know we needed more classrooms,” he said, seeing by my face that I was about to object. “That I don’t argue with. But that building has hardly any classrooms. Have you looked at the plan? Have you been in it?”
“101 is in the basement.”
“You see? The basement. All the classrooms are in the basement, except for a couple for show right at the front doors. The rest is just offices and recreational space—but mainly offices for people who do...what? Not teach, that’s certain, nor research either, as far as I can tell. I was just wandering around there before I bumped into you. Most enlightening. Most of the office space seems to be dedicated to people with only a tenuous affiliation with the university. Meanwhile, you and I have to beg for keys to get into our own classrooms at the beginning of every semester.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That is weird.”
“Only because you’re from a more honest society than ours, my dear. But I may get to experience the joys of Angelo Hall in greater depth soon. Apparently I, too, will be teaching in the basement next semester.”
“I hope it goes well,” I said, for lack of anything better to say.
“So do I, my dear. I’ll look over my rosters and ask if there’s anyone I have questions about. I’m glad to hear that Mackenzie has benefited so much from her summer abroad, and that Madison has managed to show up to class with her brain more or less in the same space as her body from time to time. Anyone else I should know about?”
“Riva Goldshteyn is very strong,” I said. “I jumped her straight into 201. And I think there might be a romance brewing between her and Adam.”
“Lovely! Adam is an excellent student. Perhaps they will go forth and multiply and provide us with more diligent little students. Anyone else?”
“The heritage speakers in 101 are all trouble,” I said. “Ira wouldn’t be a bad student if she didn’t have such a big chip on her shoulder over being a heritage speaker who can’t read or write, but she does. And I can’t really blame her: her mother is a medical doctor by training who’s now one of those women cleaning the toilets and taking out the trash for minimum wage.”
Tom shook his head in stagey sorrow. “The future of us all, no doubt. And the others?”
“Danila and Vitya are handfuls. They’re not bad—exactly. But when they’re not cutting up, they’re strolling out during the middle of class for smoke breaks.”
“And you don’t stop this?”
“Frankly I figured we could all use the break from their presence.”
