Lewis lowered his eyes and nervously tapped his mouth with a closed fist.
“And what about the sexual relationship?” Jane was beginning to feel uncomfortably more like a detective interrogating a suspect than a department Chair talking to a colleague.
He said nothing. Looking a bit ill, one of his knees began to shake slightly as he opened and closed his fists.
Jane now appropriated her “mom” voice, usually reserved for catching one of the twins in a falsehood. “Lewis, you didn’t answer my question. Did you have a sexual relationship with her?”
Lewis chewed on his bottom lip. “I thought this policy wasn’t supposed to turn into sexual McCarthyism: ‘Are you now or have you ever had intercourse with a student?’”
Jane folded her hands in front of her and shook her head, interpreting his avoidance as an admission of guilt. “Lewis, how could you? You know about the school’s policy, and with your tenure review coming up, this is the worst possible timing.”
He silently leaned the fist against his chin.
Jane continued, “And you know about her stepfather?” His face turned a paler shade of white. “My God, Lewis, you couldn’t have picked a worse student to seduce!”
Lewis sighed and closed his eyes, the full depth of the crisis beginning to sink in. Finally, Jane reluctantly told him about the photo on Mandy’s Internet page. At that point, Dr. Burns looked like he was about to throw up.
There did not seem much point in defending himself. Now was the time for damage control. “So what’s the procedure for something like this?” he asked.
Jane explained the complex bureaucratic process, should Ms. Taylor launch a formal complaint. Since this would be the first test case under the policy, there was no precedent for how the administration might rule. Given the additional accusations of supplying an underage girl with alcohol, bringing disgrace to the university with the salacious photo and the potential political fallout, she admitted there would be immense pressure to make an example of him.
“The good thing,” Jane concluded, “is that so far they haven’t filed a formal complaint, so we may be able to head off some of the damage informally, but I need to hear your side of the story.”
Whether he was being chivalrous or practicing self-preservation, Lewis refused to answer. He insisted that he needed to consult an attorney first. Jane was a bit taken aback. “You’re not under arrest,” she said rather defensively.
“Maybe not, but I have the feeling that anything I say right now might be used against me at a later time,” he said slowly.
Well, he’s right about that, Jane thought. There was no code of confidentiality in this room. As his supervisor and an officer of the university, she was obligated to report any details that Lewis confessed. Still, she was disappointed that he distrusted her so. With seemingly little point in further discussion, she dismissed him curtly. Lewis walked out in silence and immediately headed to a stall in the men’s room as waves of nausea overcame him. His whole body shook and sweated profusely as he dry heaved over the toilet. Hearing voices enter the restroom, he flushed the empty bowl. Staring into the swirling water, he imagined his career going down with it.
After Lewis left the room, Jane sat quietly at her desk, unsure what to think about his predicament. Her gut told her that he was not a Horndog Harry, but this situation held the potential to spiral out of control. Jane felt obligated to do what was best for the university. That might mean sacrificing Dr. Burns, a person she genuinely liked.
Doing what she thought was best for the whole would not be easy. She had just spent 30 minutes questioning a popular, well-liked teacher about his sexual relationship with a woman who was over the age of consent. Is this really what the Chair of the History Department needs to be doing? If Jane felt unsure about asking Lewis such personal questions, her feelings about this entire process were rapidly growing ambivalent. After all, it’s not like he was arrested for trafficking in child porn. Still, she knew that once political threats entered the equation, demands for action would follow. Despite the liberal faculty’s oft-stated desire to be a bipartisan island of freedom and forward thinking, the university had a long history of bowing to pressure from the conservative political body that controlled its funding and future.
But the political threat was only one cause of the unease she was feeling about this case. There was another factor that she could not share with Gary or any other colleague. It was something she had never even shared with Mark.
It was a memory from a long time ago.
A memory that she constantly tried to suppress.
A memory that made her sympathize more than she would like with Lewis Burns’s predicament. Try as she might, she could not prevent the memory from enveloping her mind as she pondered his situation.
Jane had expected to spend most of her first year at the U. focusing on work, navigating the mini-city that was the 40-acre academy. Were it not for Mark and Perry, she would have had no social life whatsoever. The diminutive colonialist was constantly in her office, keeping her abreast of all the latest news. She took to working in the bowels of the library whenever she really needed to concentrate without interruption. Mark also found excuses to run into her regularly, even though the Math Department was headquartered across campus from History. Much to his disappointment, she made it clear that she had no interest in dating Dr. Straussman romantically, though she enjoyed his companionship.
Despite the initial sting of this rejection, Mark had remained determined. He approached winning her over to tackling a difficult math proof: both required patience and careful thought. She refused to make the project easy for him, emphasizing the platonic nature of their relationship by inviting Perry along on most social outings and paying her own way. Her young friend happily fulfilled his chaperone duties. For the most part, Jane enjoyed the freedom allowed by her self-imposed celibacy, unencumbered by devotion to a male ego.
Eventually, however, suppressed desires gave way to temptation.
Her course-load during that first semester included teaching History 310K, Introduction to Western Civilization: Part I. She hated the course simply because she thought it was ludicrous to cover pre-Greek civilizations through the Middle Ages, or roughly 4,000 years of history, in one semester. It was during that interminable class that she began to notice a young man who always sat in the same seat on the third row. He had a slim frame, piercing blue eyes that constantly looked half-stoned and shaggy dark brown hair, resembling a young Jim Morrison strutting on the Doors’ first album cover. The young man rarely ever seemed to take any notes, content to stare at her intently as she lectured. If, in glancing across the rows of students, her gaze momentarily caught his, he would smile as if holding back some sly secret. Those moments always threw her off balance, requiring a mental reorganization to get back on track with her lecture. As the semester drew on, she tried to avoid his gaze as much as possible, but she could feel it nonetheless. She never spied him outside of class and never tried to find out his name. Something about him just made her uncomfortable.
The day after final grades were posted, on an unusually warm afternoon for December, the young man appeared at her office door as she sat composing an article on her electric typewriter. It was the same office Lewis Burns would occupy 30 years later, with newer paint and smaller cracks in the ceiling.
With her eyes and mind focused on the manuscript, several minutes passed before she sensed the student’s presence in the doorway, and even then she did not turn right away, assuming it was Perry making his usual rounds to chat. Finally looking up, she jumped slightly upon seeing the young man standing before her in tight blue jeans with matching denim jacket, sequined KISS concert T-shirt, and gold chain necklace. He was leaning with his right arm and hip against the doorframe, staring a hole through her, just as he did in class, eagerly chewing a piece of gum. He looked like sheer sex on a platter.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a bit disoriented by his presence. “Can I help
you?”
He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “I just got done takin’ your Western Civ Class.”
As they politely shook hands, she realized her palms were sweating. “Do you have a question about your grade?” she asked nervously.
“Oh no,” he replied. “I got a ‘C+.’ I’m cool with that. You’re a good teacher.”
“Thank you,” she nodded, taking note of his lack of ambition for the course. “So what can I help you with?”
“I was wonderin’ if you’d eat with me tonight,” he asked bluntly.
Jane was stunned into silence at the boldness of this kid who looked to be no older than 17. “Uh, eat?” she replied.
“Yeah. Ya know, food?” He smiled deliciously.
Jane hemmed and hawed for a moment. It would have been so easy to just turn him down politely, to make up some excuse or say she had other plans. But it had been a long time since her last real date, much longer since she had had sex. This young man offered the potential to end her dry spell. She had to admit that it was flattering for him to ask her out. Despite her pretty looks, Jane had always seemed to appeal mostly to cerebral, plain-looking males like Mark, not hunks like this one standing before her. After pondering several moments, she accepted, but insisted they meet on neutral ground, a Chinese restaurant on the other side of town, where it was less likely that anyone from the university would see them. Although at that time there was no prohibition against professors dating students, Jane was fully aware of the ethical issues it posed. She also knew that as a woman she faced greater scrutiny than a male professor might in a similar situation.
The young man agreed to her suggestion with a simple, “Cool.” Years later, she could still feel the shudder that ran through her body as she noticed how snugly his jeans fit across his firm buttocks when he turned to leave.
It had been so easy to yield to temptation. How could she pass judgment on Lewis when she knew how loneliness and physical need could lead to passion? Leaning back in her desk chair, she looked at the photo of her mentor. You were right Gerda, actions have consequences, as Jane had learned from her own experience. Lewis was playing under different rules, but he had known what the consequences might be if he yielded. If he really did yield. That was the narrative that Jane had to uncover about Lewis’s personal history, relieved that her own indiscretions had never been exposed for public scrutiny.
For several days after his meeting with Jane, Lewis intentionally avoided his supervisor, although it proved impossible to avoid gossip as “Puptent’s” photo became one of the most popular Web hits on campus. Not coincidentally, an even larger than usual number of female students tried to transfer into his classes during add/drop period. He could feel the stares, real or imagined, as he stood in front of the podium trying to analyze American history, knowing that his students knew what he looked like disrobed. This was the exact type of public embarrassment he had wanted to avoid. So much for that idea.
At least he had been able to avoid bumping into Mandy. It was harder to avoid her roommate, who was still working with Dr. Stevens. He usually tried to keep an eye out for Blanca and sneak off in another direction if he saw her coming. Finally there came a day when he had no escape. Lewis was standing at the faculty boxes getting his mail when Blanca and Sheila came into the outer office. Dr. Stevens was using her wheelchair, as she did most of the time now, but the apparatus could not fit through the lounge’s pre-ADA doorframe. She asked Ms. Dejean to get her mail, as she sat waiting, wheelchair blocking the doorway. Lewis pretended to be engrossed by junk mail as Blanca brushed him aside. “’Scuse me, Puptent,” she muttered, reaching across him to Dr. Stevens’s box.
Lewis knew he should ignore her, but he could not let the comment pass. “What did you call me?” he grimaced.
“You heard me, Puptent.” She stood and glared at him defiantly, daring him to take her on. He could see Dr. Stevens watching from behind with a curious eye, as if studying their behavior for an anthropology project.
Again, Lewis knew he should not grab the bait, but he wanted to take his frustration out on someone and Blanca was always up for a challenge. “Was that your idea?” he asked.
“What if it was, Puptent?” She stepped a little closer to him. Normally, Blanca would never dare show such blatant disrespect to a professor, but Lewis had willingly crossed a line months ago and now he had to pay the toll.
Suddenly worried that the hefty young woman might actually punch him, he took one step backwards. Sensing his fear, she raised an index finger and prepared to slip into the faux ghetto dialect she only used to mess with gullible white minds. Just as she started to open her mouth, a resounding voice stopped her cold.
“Ms. Dejean!” Dr. Stevens interjected, halting the standoff.
Blanca refused to take her eyes off Lewis as she backed away, finally turning towards Dr. Stevens. “Sorry, Ma’am,” she said demurely, head respectfully bowed.
“Take those things up to my office, please. I will be there in a moment.” Blanca obeyed, giving Lewis one more dirty glance before leaving.
“I’m sorry about that, Dr. Stevens,” Lewis offered.
His colleague just lowered her eyes at him. “Dr. Burns, are you familiar with the works of Terry McMillan?” Not surprisingly, he shook his head. “I suggest you examine them if you wish to understand the depths of sisterly wrath. You have a blessed day, Sir.” With that, she wheeled herself out of the office, giving a nod to someone out of his line of vision.
Lewis stepped out of the lounge, mortified to see the recipient of the nod. There stood Jane, right beside Isobel’s desk. Both she and the secretary were watching him intently, having heard every word of the confrontation. He wanted to scurry out of the room like the rat Blanca thought he was. Instead, he ignored the encounter and approached Isobel’s desk with his back ramrod straight and chin held high. “We should submit a work order to get that door widened,” he said. “I don’t believe it’s ADA compliant.”
“Isobel?” Jane asked, looking at Lewis curiously.
“I’ll get that out today,” the admin promised.
Thanks to Isobel, by the next day most of the department knew about Lewis and Blanca’s confrontation, with a few additional curse words and gestures thrown in with each retelling. Isobel’s version presented Blanca as a stereotypically sassy, angry black woman amusingly sticking it to the clueless white guy.
Jane had seen the young woman who worked for Dr. Stevens in the office many times, but did not know her name. The student obviously had some connection to Lewis’s situation. After mulling it over a few days, Jane decided to check in with Sheila to see what she knew.
Jane and Sheila had always had a cordial, if not close, relationship. Jane was not sure she could call them friends, but she was probably the closest thing to a friend that Sheila Stevens had among the History faculty. The Chair was one of the few colleagues allowed to call Dr. Stevens by her first name, but only in private. They admired one another’s work and had often joined sides on causes such as increasing campus diversity. Jane respected Sheila’s opinions perhaps as much as anyone in the department.
She caught Dr. Stevens in her office between classes. Wheelchair squeezed in behind the desk, Sheila was typing away at her laptop, reading glasses perched on her nose. She was noticeably thinner than the previous year; her hair, once a well-coifed flow of loose curls, now carved into a close-cropped, easy-to-manage Afro; her former business-like attire replaced with comfortable, loose-fitting clothing.
Jane glanced around the office and realized how hard it must be to maneuver the wheelchair around such a tiny space. Offices were usually assigned based on seniority, with the longest-tenured faculty getting the largest ones. Since these people usually tended to hang on to their spaces long after becoming emeriti (basically, until they dropped dead and really had no use for the room anymore), spacious offices did not come available often. When Sheila gave up her job as head of the Center for African American Studies, s
he also relinquished the plum office real estate that came with it, returning to a Hammond hovel better suited for a junior professor.
“We need to get you a bigger office,” Jane noted as she sat down.
“Well, when one becomes available, I will jump right on it,” Sheila said plainly, though Jane smiled appropriately at the joke.
“How are you feeling, Sheila?” Jane asked, anticipating the answer.
“Fine. What can I do for you, Jane?” Dr. Stevens responded in a business-like tone.
Dr. Roardan described what she had heard and seen the previous day in the office. “Your assistant,” she noted, “seems to have an issue with Dr. Burns. If you can shed any light on this situation, it would be very helpful.”
Sheila carefully removed her reading glasses and set them on the desk. “Blanca Dejean, my research assistant and an excellent one at that. I believe she exchanged a few words with Dr. Burns.”
Jane nodded, “Pretty bold for an undergrad. Is she usually so cheeky with professors?”
“I’ve already spoke with her about her rudeness, though she had her reasons,” Sheila said matter-of-factly. “Ms. Dejean would like to grow into Michelle Obama, if she can resist her baser impulse to play Sister Souljah.”
“Can you enlighten me about the specific reasons for her behavior towards Dr. Burns?” Jane asked.
“Now Jane,” Sheila said firmly, “you know I do not engage in the spreading of gossip.”
“I know you don’t,” Jane assured her, before deciding to reveal more of her hand, “but an ethics complaint has been made against Dr. Burns and I have to investigate. So, if anything a student has told you involves inappropriate conduct on the part of a faculty member, I need to know.”
Sheila looked at Jane sympathetically, carefully balancing her respected colleague’s need to know against the trust of one of her favorite students. “Well, I can reveal that Ms. Dejean knows a Ms. Mandy Taylor, who was also a student of mine two years ago.”
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