Higher Education
Page 24
When the crowds have thinned out I make my way over to Stu, who stands in the aisle listening to a reedy-looking kid I remember seeing sitting in the front row directly in line with the podium.
“I’ve got it all on floppy disk, right? Chapters one through five. Bibliography, title page, table of contents, the works. So I run out to the Coop to get a new ribbon so the print will look nice, right? I come running back to my room, I’ve been gone ten minutes tops, okay, and I’m ready to stick the disk back into my PC and start printing it out, right? And then I look underneath my desk and there’s Edgar, chowing down on my floppy. I couldn’t believe it. I almost started crying all over my disk drive.”
“Edgar? Who’s Edgar?”
“My dog.”
“Let me get this straight. Your dog ate your computer disk.”
The kid nods. “Appendix, photo captions, suggestions for further reading, everything.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“An extension.”
“Well,” Stu says slowly, “the final paper, as you know, is due a week from today. Can I make a suggestion?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Get your dog’s stomach pumped.” Stu looks over at me and sighs. “Hello, Miss Walker. Did you have a good nap?”
The computer whiz swings around, snickering balefully. “Refreshing, huh?”
“Just remember one thing,” I say to him. “Garbage in, garbage out.”
He stops snickering. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Think about it the next time Edgar wants to go outside.”
“What?”
“Stu, can I speak with you privately?”
“Certainly, Miss Walker. I assume it’s a matter of some delicacy?”
“Rather.”
We’re moving toward the exit when the computer kid says: “Now wait a minute.”
I look at Stu. “Now he’ll be forced out of pride to tell you he doesn’t have a dog.”
“Stu, can I see you afterwards? About that extension?”
When Stu and I are outside in Mem Yard standing in the leafy green shade of a tree, I lean against the tree trunk and clear my throat. “I guess you know why I wanted to talk to you.”
“It’s about your final paper, perhaps?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“And you want an extension.”
“Oh, no, no, no.”
“You don’t want an extension?”
“No, why should I?”
“You tell me.”
“I just wanted to let you know that it’ll be in on time. In case you were worrying about it.”
“Well, that’s thoughtful of you.” He runs a stubby-fingered hand down his beard. “Perhaps I was jumping to conclusions based upon your attendance record.”
“If I’m not mistaken, my running average in the class is an A.”
“That’s correct.”
“I think it’s safe to say my grasp of the material is strong.”
“Undoubtedly.”
I’m shaking my head. “It’s just that this damn combat training has absolutely shot my schedule to hell.”
“Combat training?”
“Sure. Didn’t you know?” I widen my eyes a little. “Didn’t I tell you at the beginning of the semester?”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m ROTC.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know, be all you can be and all that.”
Stu looks at me blandly. “If I might say so, Miss Walker, you don’t quite seem the type.”
“Army intelligence.” I nod, once. “Undercover work.”
“Ah.”
“Yep. What with karate classes, pharmacology research, and my work in miniaturization technology, I’m lucky if I can grab a few minutes to read my mail.”
“Miniaturization technology?”
“You know, little briefcases with video cameras in the handle.”
“I see.”
“And then of course there’s my fieldwork, which takes up about twenty hours a week.”
“Fieldwork?”
“Pistol practice, skydiving, high-speed chase simulations. You know.”
“It sounds a little dangerous.”
“Not really. You just need a steady eye and a firm hand.”
“Ah.”
“Either that or a firm eye and a steady hand. Either one will do.”
“Of course.” Stu’s stroking his beard again.
“Anyway, that’s why I’ve been a little erratic in my class attendance.”
“Are you sure you don’t want an extension? I wouldn’t want to interfere with pistol practice.”
“Oh, no, no, no. I just wanted to let you know that you’ll definitely get the paper in on time.”
“Well, I certainly appreciate your letting me know.”
“You’ll understand if there are a few bullet holes in it.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Stu.” I square my shoulders. “And thanks from Uncle Sam too.”
“You’re both very welcome.” Stu lets go of his beard. “Very good, Miss Walker. If I don’t see you in class next week, you can just drop your paper off at my office.”
“Thanks again, Stu.”
“Certainly.”
“Stu?”
“Yes, Miss Walker?”
“Can I interest you in a good used parachute?”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure? A little old lady from Framingham only used it to go skydiving on Sundays.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. But I appreciate the offer.” Nodding, Stu walks briskly off along the path toward the Science Center. But not briskly enough, for just as he’s about to pass the azalea bushes by Mem Church, a wiry little form trots up behind him.
“Stu! Can I see you for a minute? It’s about my dog.”
Legs crossed, I’m sitting on the steps of Sever Hall putting on nail polish. I’ve just finished the second coat and am holding out my hands to admire them when the bells in Mem Church ring two o’clock. Standing up, I blow on each of my nails in succession. When Bryan finally comes through the massive double doors, I push my sunglasses to the top of my head and wait for him at the foot of the stairs.
When we are level with each other I give him a little poke. “Hi.”
“What’s that all over your nails? Bubble gum?”
“Cutex. A Rose Is a Rose Pink. Whose stupid idea was it to stop talking, anyway?”
“I thought it was yours.”
“I thought it was yours.”
“Do my eyes deceive me,” he says, “or have you gotten taller? Or is it just that you’re standing up straight for once?”
“When are you going to throw out those awful jeans? They don’t flatter you at all.”
“When you finally get a decent haircut.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“About time. Listen, I’m starving. Coming to lunch?”
“Sure. Then I’ve got a few errands to run.”
“Like trying to bamboozle the Coop into giving you a free cap and gown?”
“I already got my yearbook pictures free.”
“No shit. How?”
“I told them Eileen Ford was paying for the prints.”
“That’s my girl.”
We start walking through Mem Yard, and then I pause and tuck my arm through his.
“I just have one thing to add.”
“Yeah?”
“Love,” I say, batting my eyelashes at him, “means never having to—”
“Keep moving, girlie,” he says, and tugs me forward.
On my way out of the Coop I take a last look at the classring display, my mind spinning busily, and bump into somebody by the postcard display. “Oh, sorry.”
Gerard picks up a couple of postcards from the floor and puts them back in the rack. “Hi, Miranda.”
“Hi. Is your shoulder okay? You really slammed into that rack.�
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“It’s fine. Are you leaving?”
“The Coop, you mean?”
“Yes, are you leaving the Coop?”
“Yes, I was just stopping to glance at those class rings.”
“Aren’t they hideous? My father insisted that I let him buy me one.”
“You mean he actually paid for it?”
“Of course he paid for it. How else would he be able to get it for me?” Gerard holds the door open and lets me pass. “Can I help you with that bag? It looks a little heavy.”
“No, that’s okay. You seem a little burdened down yourself.”
“This?” He waves a small white Coop bag. “It’s just a book.”
“What’d you buy?”
“Kafka. I’m trying to cheer myself up.”
We dart across the Harvard Square intersection onto Mass Ave and start walking toward Adams House.
“Why do you need cheering up?”
“I just accepted a job.”
“Congratulations.”
“Try condolences.”
“Let me guess. You got a job at Burger King.”
“I wish.”
“Gerard.” I shift my Coop bag to the other arm so that I can lightly tap his shoulder. “What kind of job is it?”
“Editorial assistant.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“At Cosmopolitan.”
“Oh my.”
“Helping their fiction editor,” he says gloomily.
“Well, the Advocate got you somewhere after all.”
“No, my father got me the job. He’s a VP at Hearst.”
“Oh.”
“The only good thing about it is that I’ll be subletting my aunt’s apartment in Morningside Heights.”
“That’s up by Columbia, isn’t it?”
“Yep. It’s one of those huge university apartments with high ceilings and bathtubs with claws on ’em. It’s been in the family for generations.”
“I see.”
“Guess how much rent I’ll be paying.”
“Tell me and I’ll hit you with my shopping bag.”
“What’s in there, anyway?”
“Presents for Jessica.”
He peers over the edge. “Shampoo? Hair conditioner?”
“You think she’ll like ’em?”
“I don’t know. But I love the wrapping paper.”
“You don’t think the typewriter motif is too loud?”
“Oh, no. Very handsome. Say, that’s a new ring you’re wearing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
“What is it?”
I switch the bag back to my other arm. “It’s a spider quartz.”
“Spider quartz?”
“You’ve heard of spider quartz before, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have. It’s a semiprecious stone, isn’t it?”
“Oh, no. It’s quite precious.”
“Well, it’s certainly unusual-looking.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I look at it again?”
“Maybe later.”
There is a short silence.
“Miranda?”
“Yes, Gerard?”
“Listen. About Saturday night.”
I pause in front of Schoenhof’s bookstore. “What about it?”
“Well, it’s just that—” Gerard leans against the window, running a hand through his unruly reddish-brown hair. “I just wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“Yeah, I was sort of fucked up that night. I’d been off coke for two weeks, you know, and then I thought, well, I’ll just get a little bit for the party, and not drink anything. But I went kind of overboard, I guess. I don’t think I behaved very well toward you.”
I stare at him, holding my Coop bag in the crook of my arm. “At least we finally got to dance together.”
“Yeah, it was fun. You’d be a pretty good dancer if you’d just relax a little. But the other stuff—well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”
“Gerard.” I blink at him. “Love means—” I stop, and laugh. “It’s okay. No hard feelings.”
“Good.” He looks relieved. “And Edgar felt pretty badly about it too.”
“Edgar?”
“The shark.” Gerard grins at me.
“I see.” I start walking again.
“Hey, Miranda,” he says, catching up with me at the corner. “What are you doing after graduation?”
“I don’t know. First Boston offered me a job.”
“First Boston? Yuck.”
I look at him curiously. “I also got accepted into Columbia.”
“Great,” he exclaims. “We’ll be neighbors. You can come over and borrow a cup of yogurt.”
“We’ll go through your aunt’s closets and try on hats.”
“You can sneak me into the gym.”
“You can get me free copies of Cosmo.”
“We’ll go to the top of the Empire State Building and drop gum on people.”
As we’re approaching the entrance to Adams House I spot the mysterious Larson coming up Plympton Street, his thick squarish glasses glinting like beacons in the sunlight. I clutch Gerard’s arm with my free hand.
“Gerard, who’s that?”
He follows my gaze. “Oh, you mean the pear-shaped kid?”
“Yes. Who is he?”
Larson turns and disappears down the steps.
“You mean you don’t know who he is?”
“No, why should I?”
“Miranda, he’s practically the most famous kid at Harvard, next to the Kennedys and Jodie Foster.”
“Jodie Foster goes to Yale.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me who he is already.”
Gerard leans close and whispers something in my ear. “What?” I say indignantly. “He lied to me. He told me he wasn’t from the South.”
“Haven’t you ever noticed how he smells of chicken fat?”
“Oh my god. No wonder he’s so—”
“How would you like to go through life as the grandson of—”
“I’m picturing him with a goatee.”
“The spitting image.”
“Oh my god.”
As we’re walking down the stone stairs into the entryway, Gerard abruptly halts. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“I’ve got to run over to Dunster Street.”
“What’s on Dunster Street?”
“The cleaners. I forgot to pick up Jackson’s shirts.”
“Really?” My smile is an odd mixture of amusement and melancholy. “Why can’t he pick up his own shirts?”
“He’s a lazy bastard.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” Gerard turns away and then turns back again. “He said you broke one of my glasses.”
“He’s full of shit.”
“Yeah, I thought he was lying. He kept staring at the fireplace with a stupid look on his face.”
I call information in New York, scrawl the number in my notebook, and dial. After three rings, there’s a click and a recorded voice begins, clipped and impatient. I wait for the beep, holding the receiver tightly against my ear.
“Henry, it’s Miranda. I know you must be incredibly busy with school and all, but I was wondering if you were—if maybe—well, the thing is, I need a date for the Radcliffe Senior Soirée. Call me, okay?”
I hang up and then dial another number.
“Michael?”
“Gal?”
“I have a serious question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Want to go to a movie with me tonight?”
“That’s a pretty serious question, all right.”
“I promise I won’t try to put my arm around you during the scary parts.”
“You payin’?”
“Are you kidding? Dutch, baby, dutch.”
“I shoul
da known.”
“I’ll buy the popcorn.”
“One condition.”
My fingers tighten on the receiver. “What?”
“I get to pick the movie.”
“Oh, all right. Listen, are you going to the tea this afternoon?”
“They havin’ brownies?”
“Is Master Ackerman losing his hair?”
“Maybe I’ll mosey on by.”
“I’ll see you there, then.”
“Thanks for callin’.”
“Sure. Au revoir.”
“A bientôt.” He pronounces it ah-bean-tote.
We hang up, and I look out the window for a little while. Then I stand up, do some waist twists, and go into my room and start digging my running clothes out from the tangled jumble on the floor.
Standing in the doorway of the history-and-lit lounge, I’m a little surprised to see Jessica over by the buffet eating cream cheese on Melba toast. But then again, I tell myself as I’m weaving my way through the crowd, tastes change.
“Hi, Jessie.”
Her head swings around. “Hi.”
“You get it in okay?”
She pauses, a piece of Melba toast at her mouth. “Get what in?”
“Your thesis.”
“I finished my feces,” someone says loudly, giggling. “I turned in my feces.”
“Sure I did. Why do you ask?”
“Just checking.” I hold out the Coop shopping bag. “Here.”
Jessica looks at the bag, then at me. “What is it?”
“Thesis presents. A tradition from the old country.”
“Everybody! Let’s sing!” Over by the bar someone starts crooning: “I’m dreaming of a white feces, just like—”
“I wish Professor Jenks would shut up already.” Jessica takes the bag and puts it on the floor. “He just can’t carry a tune.” She pulls out a package. “Great wrapping paper.”