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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Tall Man Down - 4. Chapter 4

That evening, Pete and I were quiet. We concentrated on Josh at dinner, maybe fussing with him more than usual. After we ate, I got him ready for bed while Pete finished in the kitchen. Then Josh crawled around the house, the two of us chasing after him. He was in his curious stage – not yet walking, though he could pull himself to his feet. When he finally got tired, Pete took him upstairs.

I looked online for local news. But there was no more than had been there earlier – mainly a mention of Catlin’s death. There was an daily paper, too, The Republican from Springfield, but it was mostly useless, and we got it largely because we liked the paperboy. I also looked at more important news in the online Times, trying to catch up on the world . Finally, I sat on the couch and stared out the window.

“He’s asleep,” Pete soon told me. How soon I couldn’t have guessed. “I thought you were watching TV.”

The African Queen was on, and this time, I’d promised not to fall asleep. “I’m in the wrong mood.”

He nodded and sat on the couch beside me, his feet on the coffee table, head against my shoulder. “I still can’t get over it. If you’d asked me yesterday what I’d think if Steve died, I’d’ve said it wouldn’t affect me. I’d be sorry, of course, but...”

“I’d think the same.”

“Why is this hitting us?”

We thought about that for a while.

“I think it’s Josh,” Pete finally said. “Having him now. The thought of leaving him alone.”

“Maybe.”

“What else?” He looked at me, but I didn’t know what to say.

“At least, Catlin had us one way,” I told him. “His kids’re already in college.”

“We should’ve married sooner?”

I laughed. “I wasn’t ready.”

He smiled. “Me, neither.” Then he shifted beside me. “What happens next?” he asked. “With school?”

I wondered how he’d made the connection, though the jump wasn’t surprising. He often considered six things at once.

“Does Greg Stratton automatically take over?” he went on. “As Vice-President? Or does Rebecca get it again, as Dean?”

I said it was up to the Board, but I wasn’t really sure. Pete often praises my memory for detail, but that’s his illusion. I have no better hold on facts than he does.

“Rebecca got it last time,” I said. “Temporarily. When it took the Board so long to replace Louise Hardin.”

“Is that what happened?”

“You were here.”

“I can’t remember. That was my first year, and you know how busy I was.”

“Not really.” I’d been hired a year after Pete, something he sometimes forgot.

“It doesn’t matter,” he quickly went on. “If Steve was an experiment, I’m sure the Board thinks he worked. They’ll find someone just like him.”

“That won’t be easy.”

He didn’t answer that, and for a moment, I thought about the first time I’d met Catlin. Because I’d expected so much, I’d been ready to be disappointed. But I wasn’t.

“Remember how excited we were?” I asked Pete. “How, at first, Catlin seemed so right?”

“To some people. Some still say they fought.”

“Not us.”

“No. Absolutely.”

“Were we fools?”

He smiled at me, then hesitated. “If you had your choice,” he quietly asked, “which would you choose? A year of Rebecca – the limited. Or Greg – the sleeze?”

The way he put it, neither choice looked good, though maybe all rulers look like jerks to their serfs. “I can’t see it matters,” I told him. “Even if Rebecca could reverse things – and half the faculty would back her – what could she really do in a year?”

“Nothing. Her usual. Damn it.” Pete frowned and seemed as down as he ever got. “Why does she need to be so well liked?” he went on. “What ’s so important? She’ll never take risks, so she’ll never does anything worthwhile.”

“That’s not exactly cause/effect.”

Pete ignored me and suddenly looked falsely proper, imitating Rebecca that afternoon at the emergency faculty meeting. “Of course, we’ll cancel classes on Friday, for a memorial service,” Pete now mimicked. “Out of respect.”

“The kids’ll take off anyway,” Brooke Zweig, one of the math profs, had whispered. “Though they’ve just had vacations.”

“Some might go to the service,” Pete had whispered back.

“Not even if they’re quizzed.”

“You can always depend on Rebecca doing the ‘right thing,’” Pete now went on. “Even when she doesn’t believe in it. She’ll cancel classes ‘out of respect,’ but she’ll never admit how little she respected Steve.”

“Rebecca could have dinner with Hitler and sit there quietly.”

“Greg would go drinking with him.”

“Actually, I can see that – Stratton goose-stepping across the quad. Shirt hanging out his pants. Jacket wrinkled.”

“He’s the one man on campus I’d like to dress,” Pete said, though he’d told me that before. “He’s not bad looking, really. Even with the little beer belly.”

Le petite pot.”

“But his clothes are always wrong. For him – and the occasion.”

“The man’s a pig... in every way. He’d ask his dying grandmother when she last had sex.”

“He’d still cancel classes for a service.”

“Yeah. But in that way, we’re all hypocrites. We’ll all go to it – and to the funeral.”

“It’s only right.”

I knew that. But I still wouldn’t have chosen to go to either.

“And I don’t know if Greg hated Steve so much,” he’d continued, “so much as they had nothing in common.”

“They hated each other. I was in Maintenance last week – trying to get that leak fixed in the theater. Stratton was there, blowing off at Glenn Hudal – I guess they’re pals. They did their usual six-dozen riffs against Catlin and then realized I was listening.”

“That’s just showing off – among fellow travelers. In public, Greg never fights stupidly. In fact – in most ways – he’s way ahead of the rest of us at keeping things focused. And there’s no one who handles money better.”

“He’d turn Waldron into a school for jocks.”

“That’s worse than a business and tech school?”

I looked at Pete, to see if he really wanted to start. We’d been over it before.

“We could look for other jobs,” I finally offered.

He simply smiled. “You know what’s out there.”

He didn’t want to start. “Nothing better than this,” I agreed, relaxing. “In as nice a place.”

“It’s like everywhere I’ve ever worked,” he continued. “The potential’s so high. People have so much ability. Then they fight.... over so little.”

“It’s amazing that any work gets done.”

He laughed at that, and then we were quiet. Knowing what we’d headed off.

“You really unhappy?” I asked after a bit.

He shook his head. “No. Not overall. But if Steve’s replacement is him all over again. And if we get suckered again, and people spend as much time sniping...”

“It could be a woman.”

Pete laughed. “That’s not gonna happen again for a long time. They had their chance. For what? Over forty years? And they nearly bankrupt the college with good intentions. As it is, there’s – I can’t remember – one woman on the Board? Out of six. And her family once owned the football field.”

“Most of the department chairs are women. And many of the administrators.”

“But not Greg. And he holds the money.”

I couldn’t deny that. And – as Pete said – he was good.

“I wouldn’t want to leave here,” I soon told him. “I’ve never been as happy.”

He reached for my hand. “How much does that have to do with the place?”

I hesitated, teasing. “A lot.”

He studied me until I laughed. Then for a while, we sat. Comfortably saying nothing.

copyright 1987, 2019 by Richard Eisbrouch
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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 One of the advantages of being married, especially to another man. being able to sit there, comfortably, saying nothing. That peaceful interlude is a rarity in a heterosexual marriage.:boy:

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Much as I understand that in the abstract, sometimes my husband is just a bit too uncurious.  And two hours of an otherwise comfortable dinner in a restaurant would be even more pleasant if he'd occasionally respond to an observation or piece of reporting of mine with a comment of his own.

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“It’s like everywhere I’ve ever worked,” he continued. “The potential’s so high. People have so much ability. Then they fight.... over so little.”

I forget whom she was quoting, but my mother always used to say that the reason academic politics got so vicious is that there was so little at stake. 😁

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Absolutely right on faculty politics.  Richard Russo writes particularly well about them in a novel I think called The Straight Man -- which has nothing to do with sex.

There's a moment towards the end of the book where the faculty finishes a meeting, and everyone rushes to get out of the conference room.  But they crowd the door, which opens in, and can't  jointly agree to take a step back, so they can open the door and all leave.

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