by Zoey Long
“Yeah, I remember. What does that have to do with anything? Are they living in Westchester with a bunch of kids now?”
Alexis shakes her head vigorously. “No, I have no idea what happened there, only the rumor that they did actually get married. I get it, she was gorgeous and brilliant. Anyway, no. Okay. I bring that up because… what would you say if I told you that a certain professor of our acquaintance was making the rounds among the female members of the student body as we speak?”
I look at her, I can feel my eyeballs vibrating in their sockets and it has nothing to do with the coffee I just had. Who the fuck is she talking about? I feel the scarlet A coming back, my chest feels psychosomatically itchy.
“What are you talking about?” I ask her so sternly and look at her so stone faced that she sits back in her chair.
“Adam Clark.”
Her words crash into my ears like a thousand waves and wipe away what little sound exists in the space around me. My face and extremities feel numb, I feel light, like I could float up and out of my chair. I don’t say anything to her, just focus on the task of breathing and on the sound and thump of my own racing heartbeat. She continues.
“I mean, I’m not at all surprised. What is he, twenty-seven? Walking around here looking like Eric Northman from True Blood? I’d fuck him in a second.”
I swallow a few times and take a breath. My mouth is drier than I expected. I swallow hard and rub my dry tongue on the roof of my mouth. “Wait, what exactly have you heard?”
“It’s not just a rumor. It’s actually happening. He’s fucking his entire pinup photography class. Well, not the boys. But definitely at least half the class, and probably a few others. I can’t believe you haven’t heard this yet. That’s why I wanted to tell you so badly, because I figured you’d be the first person to spread that around if you had.”
“Alexis,” I snap, “you’re not answering my question. Who told you this?”
She looks at me confused. “What’s up your ass? I thought you’d think this was hilarious. Anyway, apparently he was caught in the dark room with some girl a few weeks back. He had her up on the ledge of the developing bin, which I personally think is disgusting, and now it’s just like common knowledge that he fucks his students. I heard Joe was going to actually bring him in and ask him about it.”
“What?” I yell in full voice, feverishly packing up my bag.
“Shh! Hey, shut up. Some of us are actually trying to work here!” A girl turns around to face me from the chair she’s sitting in nearby, she narrows her eyes and gives me a dirty look. As I sling my messenger bag quickly around my shoulder, the book of Brassai photographs falls from my lap. I’m out of the library in mere seconds, pounding down the pavement as hard as I can without even taking a moment to say goodbye.
Chapter 16: Adam
It first came in an email. Sitting in my office with the door closed, I checked my [email protected] address, as I do at least twice a day. It was from the office of Joe Sterling, the head of the visual arts department who hired me. I think it was actually written by Rose, his assistant.
Dear Mr. Adam Clark,
Your presence is requested at the office of Mr. Joe Sterling, please give our office a call to set up a meeting at your earliest convenience.
It could be anything, really. Mid-semester evaluations, a discussion about my lesson plans, hell, Joe could just want to go out for that drink he’s always suggesting. My palms are sweating as I click the “reply” button. It’s a few seconds before I realize that’s ridiculous. The antique green rotary phone on my desk does have a dial tone when I pick it up, although I’ve never used it. I grab my double-breasted black trench coat, throw it over my shoulders, and head to the admissions office.
Joe’s assistant Rose is sitting at the front desk. I haven’t seen her since the day I was hired. Today she’s wearing a black and white cardigan and pencil skirt. Black sweater with white little hearts all over it and tiny little black buttons in a line, like tiny marchers in the middle of her chest.
“Good afternoon, Adam. Are you well?” She gives me the sweetest smile, sugary, almost sickeningly so. I nod, wiping tiny drizzle off the shoulders of my coat.
“Joe is out, but only for a moment,” she says, moving her long limb down to scratch her knee. “I’m sure if you wait, he’ll be able to meet with you briefly. “
That makes me wonder how close she is with Joe Sterling. How many letters does she write that she remembers that Joe wants to meet with me specifically? How important is this meeting? What the fuck is this about? I realize that’s probably sexist, not everyone is involved with each other just because I’m in love with a student.
“If it’s better, I can come back. Or make an appointment for later in the week,” I offer, leaning forward and standing up out of the plush leather chair I’m sitting in.
“Not at all. Just take a seat and he’ll be back shortly. He doesn’t have much else going on for the rest of the day.”
There’s that candied smile again as she scrolls through his Outlook calendar and urges me to sit back down. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asks me. I shake my head no.
“Hey there, Clark.”
Joe’s voice booms into the building, the acoustics in these marble halls are such that I’m sure his voice can be heard all the way up the wooden spiral staircase. I stand up and face him, seeing that he’s shorter than me but not by much, and of course wearing jeans and a sweater to my more formal suit.
“If this isn’t a good time for you. I can come back later,” I say.
“No, no. Just come right in. This won’t take long. Thanks for responding so quickly.”
Joe passes me, leading me into his office. Gone are his handshakes and his back slapping expressions of camaraderie. A lump begins to form in my throat as Rose gives me one last saccharine-sweet smile and I sit down in Joe’s office. He shuts the door.
He shuts the door behind me and I take a seat in the empty chair across his desk. He makes eye contact with me and sits down in his desk chair taking a deep breath sitting on the edge of the seat and putting both palms down. Mentally I'm calculating how I'm going to pay my bills this month, what I have left in my savings, whether or not I can break into an emergency fund that I set up and don't usually touch, if I'm fired would I qualify for unemployment, I didn't make enough money doing this gig, what the hell I'm gonna tell Lana when she finds out I've been fired, and finally keep reminding myself that although she's my student, Carrie is over eighteen. No one is going to jail today.
"So, Clark. Look. I help run a school that is 70% women. These women, most of them are between the ages of 18 and 22. All undergrads gossip, it's just part of the job. I mean, you probably still remember some of the rumors that were circulating around when you were in undergrad. Right? Which, if I'm right wasn't even that long ago? How old are you anyway man, 29? Not the point."
That's it. I'm done for. Someone actually has footage of me fucking Carrie. I have no idea how that could be possible, but someone has it. Someone has photographic evidence, someone has us kissing on camera, someone was peering in through the windows of my office when I was railing her out from behind and it's already been broadcast all over the campus news.
"I can see from your facial expression that you really just want me to say what I'm about." Joe checks his watch, which I think is an Apple watch. Academia certainly pays better than I thought for those in administrative roles. He shrugs, obviously happy with the time and takes out a flask from his drawer. It's possible that this man's antiquated ideas about men and women and how they behave could possibly mean that I don't get fired today. I don't know how comfortable I am with that but if it's a loophole that means I can still pay my bills, I don't hate it. Joe is such a dude bro. He's the type of guy that I wouldn't be able to stand just a few short years ago in college myself. When he checked his watch, I swear to God I think he flexed his forearm muscle. He takes a swig from the
shiny silver flask and offers me some.
"It's never good when your supervisor offers you a drink before they tell you what the hell is going on. No disrespect," I say, laughing. Joe gives out a hearty chuckle and says fair enough. He offers me his flask of whiskey one more time and I take a small sip then hand it back to him awkwardly. He slams it back in the drawer, obviously ready to spill the beans.
"There have been some rumors. At first I didn't think anything of it, it didn't actually come to my attention and until a few weeks back, but now it's pretty pervasive. I need to speak to you face-to-face and see if they have any validity." I'm back to thinking I’m absolutely fired. "Ever since you were hired, there's been a bit of a buzz among the female and some of the male population of the student body over your looks. I'm comfortable enough in my heterosexuality to admit that you're an extremely attractive man. You’re a photographer who could be a model, and you take pictures of women in the lingerie." He laughs again, to himself.
"I'd be lying if I said that wasn't part of why I hired you in the first place. I told you that I wanted to inject some life into this godforsaken place, bring back some the old Earnsley spirit which you and I both know is steeped in sexuality and freedom of expression, controversy and pushing the envelope. But didn’t I tell you to keep your head out of your ass?" He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. He’s obviously very uncomfortable and was much more comfortable when we were just too lucky sons of bitches, artists surrounded by young women who wanted to know more about art. Those days are clearly over now. As he has to reprimand me for being a dirty rotten no good cradle robbing…
"What can you tell me about Alexis Schiff?"
I shake my head quickly. "What? Who?" I say quite earnestly, I'm not sure who the hell he just referenced.
“She's a second year, a bit of a wild one. A conspiracy theorist, if I had to guess. She came into my office and claimed that you had taken this photograph of her.” My mind is spinning, I have no idea what he's talking about. Joe reaches back inside the drawer where he took out the whiskey and takes out a print. It's a black-and-white photograph that I recognize. It's the first picture that Carrie developed for my class, the one I helped her develop myself in the darkroom that night. The night that we first kissed. I'm speechless.
"Joe, I swear to God, I did not take that picture. She's not even in my class."
He nods, looking relieved. "I know she's not in the class. I checked the registrar. But teachers and students can sometimes meet outside of class, get to know one another, and the next thing you know, somebody's legs are up in a dorm room while wearing stiletto heels and a garter belt and stockings."
My mind flashes to Carrie. Sweet, luminous, brilliant Carrie. And all the places I've kissed her loved her run my fingers through her hair, made love to her.
"That's certainly plausible. I'm not denying that, but I don't know this woman." The best place to hide is in plain sight I remind myself. I take a deep breath and looked Joe directly in the eye.
"I do recognize the photograph. I didn't take it. Carrie Desmond did. She handed it in for an assignment, actually one of the first assignments I ever gave in the semester. I developed it with her in the dark room myself. I assume Alexis and Carrie are friends. Carrie told me she had taken a photograph of her friend for that assignment."
Joe starts to laugh. ”Jesus Christ man. I do not envy you. The subject that you teach, looking the way you do, being surrounded by all of these young women, being young yourself? I can't even tell you what it would probably happen if I were in your shoes. All right, Alexis Schiff did insinuate that you were sleeping with quite a few members of your photography class in addition to taking this photograph of her, but since there is no evidence to sustain either claim at this time, I won't look into it further. Also, since you can't see exactly who the subject in this photograph is, and the fact that you do teach a class on pin-up photography, this all could be a confluence of circumstance. Just, please, don't let me hear about it again."
"She what? She said that I was doing what?" I asked, near panicked.
"Please, relax. I said I'm not going to look into it any further at this time. Carrie has many enemies and only a few friends. She's the most talented actress in the entire theater department and everyone knows it. I can imagine it would be difficult to be her friend. I won't do anything else with this matter, but if you have nothing to hide—and I don't believe you do—we can just pretend this never happened."
I swallow a few times to moisten my mouth, placed my hands down on my knees and ready myself to stand up. Joe extends his hand to shake mine, and there he is again with the back slaps, big smiles, and promises for drinks together in the future.
I walk with him to the door of his office slowly. His hand is firmly on my back as we walk, a gesture of friendship and concern. My mind is still buzzing but I am finally able to adhere to a solid thought before he ushers me out of his office.
“But why would she implicate herself like that?” I ask Joe, with a finality that means I stop walking with him for a moment.
He stops and looks at me confused, one hand still on my back, about to use the other one to open the solid wood door to his office. He narrows his eyes and moves his hand from the door, looking at me straight on.
“If I had taken the picture, which I did not, but if I had, and that implied some kind of romantic relationship between us, or at least one that is inappropriate on some level, why would she come marching into your office, waving it like a flag? How does that benefit her? Other than a desire to destroy me, but I don’t know the girl so that doesn’t make any sense…”
Joe starts to nod.
“She obviously wanted to start some shit,” he says resolutely. He shrugs his shoulders. It makes me wince.
“Aren’t you… Okay, Joe, I really appreciate you taking my side in this, but aren’t you supposed to remain impartial in these kind of situations? Why would a student do that?”
Joe sits back down at his desk and I sit back down in the chair across from him. He takes a deep breath, stretches his arms above his head. He is once again in a version of the LA business suit, jeans and a black blazer. It’s hard for me not to think he looks sleazy. That’s probably because he does.
“You’re making this more complicated than it has to be. I told you, I’d drop it.” He’s starting to look annoyed. My heart is beating fast. I am fully aware that I am vacillating very dangerously between implicating myself in my affair with Carrie, or losing my job, or both. I need to know what was said.
“I appreciate that, I really do. I don’t want the matter to continue, believe me. I didn’t take the photograph. Just, please, tell me what happened. What exactly did she say happened?”
Joe looks at his watch and sighs. “All right. So, last week, Ms. Schiff came into my office. She didn’t have an appointment, said it would just be a minute. I had some time so I brought her in. She said she was very upset about being bumped from your class at the beginning of the semester and that something needs to be done about the class lottery system because she thinks it’s unfair.”
“She tried to get into the class?”
“Yes. Apparently she entered her name into the lottery quite a few times.”
I slowly begin to nod. I knew a lottery had taken place at the start of the semester because so many students tried to sign up for my class. I was told that happens when so many students try to sign up at once, that a lottery system is the only fair way of choosing who gets in and who doesn’t. It happens often with new classes and professors, even more so in my case given the controversial material of pin-up photography.
“Carrie Desmond got in right away. She was one of the first names picked.” Joe starts to chuckle. “Whatever the ‘it’ factor is, man, Carrie Desmond has it. I’ve never met a person with that kind of uncanny luck before. Fair and square, her name was just picked.”
I tense at the mention of Carrie’s name, but try not to let it s
how, focusing instead just on his words as he continues.
“So Ms. Schiff was very disgruntled at the fact that she was bumped from your class, even with her improved odds. I told her it was not customary to enter your name into the lottery more than once. You should have seen the look I got for that one. I know everyone does it, the system is corrupt. Anyway, after she was finished talking about the lottery system, she said it had come to her attention that you were… how did she put it… abusing your post?”
I look at him skeptically. “I don’t know what that means.”
“She said that you were giving students ‘private lessons,’ and she was one of the students you asked to model for you.”
“That is absolutely ridiculous! That’s not true.” I raise my voice. “Did she insinuate anything else?”
“I’m not accusing you. Only telling you what she said, at your request. She said only that you had taken the photograph of her that I showed you, and she had it on good authority that you were sleeping with at least one other student, she wouldn’t be surprised if there were even more.”
“What?” I’m incredulous. My heart sinks when he says this last part. What “authority” could she possibly have? I know Carrie would never outright tell anyone about us.
“I pressed her to tell me what kind of authority she was speaking of, she said she’d seen you with someone but had no substantial proof. In her opinion, though, you should be fired.”
I sit back in my chair, aghast. It’s starting to make sense to me now. If this girl is Carrie’s friend and she was jilted from my class, has it out for Carrie, and somehow knows about the two if us, of course she’d want to do her best to end it. Or maybe she doesn’t even know about our relationship and is simply bitter at Carrie getting in when she didn’t, making up stories to get me fired. She has no way of knowing at least part of what she made up is true. Either way, I need to find Carrie and tell her what’s going on before it’s too late.