Oliver
“Just drop us off here,” Elijah tells the driver as we near the main entrance to the university on 116th Street. “We’ll make a better entrance on foot.”
The whole thing has a kind of badass, kind of action movie feel—but this is an educator, well, an administrator to be exact and not some guy you attack with blazing guns. We’re feeling action movie fury for sure, but since this isn’t a real movie, we settled for a scheduled meeting and a brief conversation instead of CGI fireworks.
It’s a little overcast when we step onto the pavement with our Italian leather dress shoes.
“It feels enough like a fucking movie to me,” I say looking up at the sky.
“You and your non-sequiturs.” Lucas punctuates his comment by putting on his aviator shades.
It’s just bright enough to get away with those, but he’s lucky they work so well for him.
Elijah is holding a leather satchel full of printed-out documents tightly against his side. He flashes the briefest, most subtle smile I’ve noticed on anyone while we walk through the front campus gate.
“You enjoy carrying some proof, don’t you?” Lucas asks him.
“It’s just in case his recall is a bit hazy.” Elijah allows himself the second briefest smile I’ve seen after that.
We’re not the ordinary trio of guys you see walking through a university campus every day, not matter how Ivy League it is.
I know Lucas has been here recently, but he’s good at being unassuming—plus he went solo that time.
Unlike now, with all of us, walking in a well-tailored row and taking up the entire path. With our long overcoats swaying in the breeze, our oxford shoes swinging in the air with purpose as we step, our path is clear for us without question.
This stays true until we get close to the building where the Dean’s office is located.
It starts to get crowded. There are odd thickets of college students, rumpled working faculty, and what looks to be Upper West Side residents all gathered in denser and denser crowds the closer we get to the building.
People are still clearing a path, and I’m hitting my stride, as Lucas would say.
However, if I spot that Greg fucker skulking around, I will have to put my stride on hold so he and I can have a little academic discussion.
It is best that, for the sake of expediency, I don’t see Greg or any other familiar faces during our last few steps into the building.
“Gentlemen!”
A young woman is standing just inside the doorway of the old, venerable administrative building. She looks like she’s maybe in her mid-20s and she’s dressed in a brand-new, somewhat generic looking business suit.
I can deduce that she’s hot in pursuit of a position at the university.
I wonder how long she’s been standing here waiting for us—I also wonder if the Dean arranged for her to be right there when we entered.
“That’s quite alright, Rhonda,” a well-worn voice booms from the stairwell, “I will see the three gentlemen from BioKin upstairs myself, thank you.”
Huh, what a fucking prick. He arranged that whole show without a doubt.
“Dean Hughes, it’s interesting to see you in your office.” It’s a rare moment when I’m the first one to speak up.
I feel the quick glances from Elijah and Lucas. They realize we’re starting now.
“Yes, I needed to come greet you all myself. It’s not every day we entertain such prestigious figures—even if you’re not the type of prestigious figures most people here would recognize.”
We’re starting alright, and the Dean’s just pushed down hard on the accelerator.
“Oh, please. It’s an honor for us to visit an institution like this, regardless of who’s here to see us.”
Elijah’s playing along, being nice and subtle with his attacks—for now. I know he will never back down to insults like that.
“Why don’t you follow me upstairs? I would love nothing more than to have the cream of BioKin grace my office.”
Lucas pretends to cough to cover a laugh.
“Lead the way, Dean,” he offers.
We follow Dean Hughes up the marble stairwell.
He talks to us while facing forward, and we hear little more than echoes as he babbles on.
Leading us down the musty hallway to his office, the Dean’s words become easier to understand.
“So, that’s my story of being self-made,” he concludes while we shuffle through the weird area just outside his office.
The Dean proudly takes his spot behind his surprisingly cheap little desk while I’m just walking through the door.
I proudly take my own spot, standing in the middle of the office, staying as still as a gargoyle as Lucas and Elijah stride in and stand on either side of me.
“Oh, come on, gentlemen, we don’t need to go on tradition, here. Sit where you’d like and make yourselves comfortable,” the Dean says with a flourish of his hand.
“I’m plenty comfortable where I am,” Elijah responds in his terrifically ominous way. “How about you guys?”
“Quite comfortable,” Lucas adds, matching Elijah’s tone impressively well.
I don’t say shit, I just watch the Dean as the jovial expression slowly drops from his face.
“Suit yourselves.” The Dean slaps the top of his desk, trying to shake the pinch of nervousness he’s getting. “I cleared one of the busiest afternoons this week for your visit, but I’m assuming this’ll be worth it.”
Elijah and I turn to each other, stone-faced.
Enough bullshit, it’s time.
“Do you really think we’re here to give you money?” Elijah’s injecting the perfect degree of menace with every word he says.
The last trace of any false cheer instantly evaporates from the Dean’s face.
“Why are you here, then?”
It makes sense: that’s what our relationship’s been so far.
Yet, he couldn’t be more oblivious.
Actually, I stand corrected: I can see the realization dawning on his face.
“Just now he’s starting to understand. Un-fucking-believable.” Lucas is thinking the same thing, apparently.
“You can’t mean, oh, this can’t be serious. Gentlemen, these are different worlds we’re talking about.”
“You really failed to make the connection.” I can’t keep it to myself any longer. “Tell me, have you forgotten all about one of your best students, or did you not think it was even worth bringing up?”
“I’m not a hypocrite!” The Dean bolts up from his chair and bangs his palm on the desk for good measure.
“I know you all took part in the charity event, or whatever it was…”
“That’s exactly what it was—a charity event,” Elijah hisses.
“Yes, yes, it doesn’t matter,” the Dean says dismissively, “you’re not students here. On the other hand, Miss Carson…”
The Dean brings his speech to a screeching halt, his eyes searching around anxiously. He knows he needs to be very careful how he proceeds.
“Miss Carson,” he starts again, trying to sound flat and dry, like he can make this impersonal, “did not live up to the code of conduct we expect from everyone involved with the academic life and overall functioning of the university. We are very strict on that. No exceptions.”
Elijah and I turn to Lucas, sensing that it’s his time to shine.
It seems we’re correct: he’s trying to hide a wry smirk.
“Everyone?” Lucas inquires, letting the word ring out nice and slow.
The Dean’s face has gone a ghostly white. I see him try to fight a nervous swallow, but he proceeds to fucking gulp like a frightened cartoon character.
I’d love to play poker with this guy sometime.
“It’s…no exceptions.”
The Dean is not doing well, and I’d almost feel bad for him, if there weren’t a very simple way for him to make his all stop.
Shit, I should remind him just in case.
“Academia has a reputation for being a free and open-minded institution.” I start pacing like a professor as I give my speech. “I’d imagine that sometimes, it can be easy to get caught up in old-fashioned mores, even for someone of your stature. However, if you’d like to make things right, I don’t think any of us would mind being done with this meeting already.”
The Dean’s eyes are wide and fixed on some far-off point.
“No re-admittance. No exceptions.”
This poor bastard’s in denial. He’s deeply hoping that we’re done with our argument, and we’ll just leave him alone now.
Unfortunately for him, we’ve done our homework. We got just the thing to make sure he will give in.
Elijah places the leather satchel down gently on the desk, covering the Dean’s hectic mess of paperwork and folders.
The Dean’s eyes widen even more, which I didn’t think was possible. His breathing is becoming audibly shallow.
“What’s that?” He’s still trying to sound calm, but the perspiration forming in his forehead says otherwise.
“Just clippings from the Times, the New Yorker, the Village Voice, publicly available material.”
“Is the rest of the faculty really in the dark about this?” Again, I can’t stop myself from asking. “Is the student body?”
The Dean is breathing a bit easier now, and the color’s returning to his face. He knows the charade is over, at least with us.
“Those stories are from thirty, thirty-five years ago.”
“Also twenty years ago, ten,” Lucas adds.
“There’s nothing especially damning in any of them,” Elijah continues. “Just a rising star in New York academia who’s also a bit of a Casanova on the social scene.”
Elijah’s still fucking killing it. We’ve got him now, and it’s time to pull back a bit.
“That’s a very charit…nice way of phrasing it. I’ve had a few…okay, a fucking lot of affairs over the years, and the decades.”
The Dean shakes his head. It’s this self-reflection he was trying to avoid.
“Also a few marriages, until I realized I wasn’t good at being married.”
“It’s not for you,” I interrupt, finally sitting down in the wood chair next to me, “that’s okay, it’s not for everyone.”
Lucas and Elijah sit down in their chairs while the Dean States solemnly at the satchel, probably reflecting on life decisions.
“None of us are perfect.” Lucas picks up where I left off, bringing us into the homestretch, “and it’s tough being in the public eye for anyone.”
“It is.” The Dean’s usual demeanor is starting to come back. “Look, that stuff’s old news, and I never claimed to be perfect—but it would be very difficult for me to go back on this.”
“That lifestyle’s in the past for you, isn’t it?” I ask. “Not that it matters, it’s not like you’re married anymore.”
“Not for many years,” the rosiness starts falling from the Dean’s cheeks once again as he replies.
“That’s your personal life, and it’s fine. It’s not like you’re holding other people to some standard that you’re not living up to yourself.”
“And if you are, maybe it’s time to see the error of your ways,” Elijah states calmly, patting the satchel.
The Dean knows that even old news can have an impact when it’s brought to light—especially when it runs counter to a public image that he’s trying hard to preserve.
“We don’t think you’ve done anything worth losing your standing over, Dean Hughes, and neither has Sofie. Maybe it’s time to re-evaluate your stand about such things, Casanova.”
This time, Lucas really is bringing it home.
“We’ve been happy to contribute, generously, to the university over the years.” Elijah’s adding the finishing touches. “We wouldn’t want to see that relationship end.”
“It’s…very unusual, but given the circumstances, such as your generosity, I’ll see to it, personally, that Miss Carson’s former standing with the university is reinstated by Monday.”
“Monday?” I say it a little too loudly, but he gets the message.
“By tomorrow morning, that is...I mean, later this afternoon.”
Elijah starts sliding the leather satchel across the desk towards the Dean, but stops abruptly, keeping his hand on it tightly.
“Do you want me to send her an email myself?” the Dean snarls.
“Sure. But there is one more thing.” Elijah starts standing up, hovering over the desk, “Who was it who tipped you off about the auction?”
“Christ,” the Dean grouses, “we’ve been having issues with him, I don’t need to go down that rabbit hole. And now this...His departure is long overdue.”
“Greg,” I say, just to make sure.
“Yes, ‘Greg’ as you call that…person. He’s gone, immediately.”
“We share your disgust, Dean Hughes,” Elijah says, letting go of the satchel. “Why don’t you hold onto this?”
Dean Hughes has the satchel off the desk and into a drawer in less than a second.
“That was a productive meeting,” the Dean announces, standing up as if nothing happened, “I hope we see you gentlemen back here soon.”