The Company You Keep

by Tracy Kelleher

  “Joe, why don’t you shut up,” Vic said under his breath. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

  Mimi turned to Vic, confused. “Hold on. What does he mean? It’s not going to do who any good anymore?”

  Joe stepped between them. “The contract for the stone for the new office in Australia. Part of the deal with your father was that Vic here show you a good time.”

  “Joe! That’s ridiculous and you know it.” Vic’s voice was menacing.

  “What does he mean?” she asked Vic again. Then she noticed her father bowing his head. “Father. What did you do?”

  Conrad raised his chin.

  “I felt that if you could get passionate about something again, it might wake you up from your slumber.”

  “Slumber? I’m not some Sleeping Beauty. I was suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome!”

  “Yes, well, I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m a father.”

  “Since when?” Mimi shot back.

  Joe pushed the sides of his suit jacket back and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He was clearly enjoying the set-to.

  “So I tried to think of what would rile you up, what people or events in the past had gotten your goat so much that you couldn’t stop yourself from reacting. I’d already been appointed to the Reunions committee heading up the panels, and then it struck me.”

  She turned to Vic. “And you went along with this?”

  “It’s not what it sounds like. Your father requested I sit on the panel and at the same time mentioned he might be able to throw some business our way in exchange.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “This goes from bad to worse. He basically paid you to go out with me?”

  “He never said anything about going out with you. That happened all on its own.” Vic reached out. “I was going to tell you, trust me. It’s just that things kind of took on a life of their own, and when they did, somehow other things got in the way.”

  “Like sex, you mean?” Mimi laughed. She didn’t sound remotely humored.

  “Mimi,” Noreen said in hushed tones.

  Mimi stared at her stepmother, the stepmother she thought she’d understood and admired. “Why so prudish all of a sudden? Weren’t you the woman who had an affair with a married man—my father, to be exact? Or was that just a money transaction, as well?”

  “Mimi! You apologize,” her father ordered.

  She held up her hands. “Okay, I take back that last crack. It was a low blow, but at the moment, I’m not feeling particularly charitable toward anyone.” She slanted a glance at Vic. “You especially. I thought we had a connection. And all along you were lying to me,” she pleaded to him.

  “I wasn’t lying. I was holding back—just like I do with everything.” He shook his head. “I told you things I’ve never told anyone else.” Vic drew his mouth in a hard line. “Listen, I knew you’d be pissed when you found out, that you were bound to take it the wrong way. Your trust in me is still new, still raw…”

  “Raw? You want to talk about raw? Well, that’s me right now. I’m feeling raw, all right. Raw and used.”

  Vic grimaced. “Believe me, that was never my intention.”

  She stared at him long and hard. “Are you sure?” Mimi didn’t wait for an answer, but instead addressed her father. “I suppose you still expect me to go through with this panel after lunch?”

  Conrad nodded. “Please, you can’t back out now. What will people say? I’m worried the rumors are already starting about Pilgrim before I’ve had time to do some damage control.”

  Mimi narrowed her eyes. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?” She breathed in and turned her head to the side. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I can’t deal with you—all of you anymore.” Then she turned back to her father. “But don’t worry. Unlike some Lodges, I’m to be trusted. I’ll serve on your frigging panel.”

  Mimi regarded the enormous hat in her hand and kept shaking her head in anger. Then she brought her eyes up and focused on Joe. “Here, you take this. I’m not sure you can fit your big, fat mouth in it, but it’s worth a try.” She punched the hat in Joe’s stomach and took off, pushing through the crowd.

  Joe grabbed the hat before it hit the floor. “That beats all.” He laughed. “Here, I’m the only one willing to speak the truth, and I get grief.”

  “Joe, for the love of Pete, would you please shut up.” Vic pushed his bottom teeth forward.

  “But I was just trying to protect you, protect the family,” Joe protested.

  Vic slanted him a vicious look. “Yeah? Well, don’t try so hard next time.”

  Joe stuck up his chin. “What? You think you’re the only one who knows what’s best for our family? For the business? I got news for you. You’re just as much a sucker for a pair of tits as the next guy—not that she has much in that department.” He snickered.

  Vic made a fist with his left hand, brought it up shoulder high and decked him.

  The people around them scurried back as Joe lay sprawled on the floor. “What the…?” He tested his jaw, maneuvering it back and forth.

  Vic shook his hand to lessen the pain. “I guess I still have some anger management issues, after all.” Then he stormed out, too.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  TWO HOURS LATER, Mimi was seated in a crowded lecture room—ironically, the same one where she and Vic had had the Civil War history course.

  She looked around—the place was packed, especially with older men who had that large shoulder, somewhat paunchy build of ex-jocks whose one-time muscle had turned to fat.

  “Welcome, everyone, to the Reunions Panel titled, ‘A Return Look at the Impact of Title IX on Intercollegiate Athletics at the University.’” Her father, his tortoiseshell half glasses slipping down his nose, read from a note card. Since this morning’s encounter at the Un-Parade, Mimi couldn’t help noticing that his color was better and he seemed more confident. Being the center of attention clearly put him in his element.

  Standing at a lectern to the side of the table of panelists, Conrad made the introductions one by one. The current Athletic Director was seated directly to Conrad’s left, and various coaches, the university Provost, Vic and Mimi filled out the remaining seats. Whoever had made the arrangements had stationed Vic toward the middle and Mimi at the far end. Given her suspicious nature, she would have assumed that either her father or Vic had banished her to the nether regions. But she had purposely arrived early, lurking in the back of the auditorium, to make sure there was no hanky-panky on their part.

  She also couldn’t help noticing that the pitchers of water were placed well out of her grasp.

  “Now that we’ve met all our participants, let me say how grateful I am to our returning members from the original panel,” Conrad went on. “It’s not often that the university can elicit its members to participate in a second panel twelve years after the original. And this, I believe, is a testament to the loyalty and respect that we Grantham alums feel for our alma mater.”

  Naturally, his statement received applause from the partisan audience.

  “So, without further ado, I thought we’d begin with Athletic Director and Class of ’72 graduate, Dwight Reginald. He’ll give us a brief update on the current state of intercollegiate athletics at Grantham and the effects of Title IX on the program as a whole. I might ask the other panel members to also keep their responses and comments as brief as possible so that we will be able to get everyone’s input as well as answer questions from the audience. We all want to stay on schedule in order not to miss the events of the day. Dwight?” Conrad held out a magnanimous hand.

  Dwight Reginald beamed. He had a full head of neatly groomed hair, the requisite Grantham orange-and-black-striped tie and a ruddy complexion that spoke of outdoor sports and a deep familiarity with bourbon on the rocks.

  “Thank you, Conrad, and great to see all of you—many familiar faces, I might add.” He nodded to the audience. “I am happy to report that once again Grantham had
a banner year in sports.” Looking at his printed notes, Reginald ran down the statistics of league winners, individual performances and records set.

  Mimi found it hard not to zone out. She reached for the water glass in front of her. The coach of the men’s squash team next to her slanted her a worried look. She smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, Coach. I’m not in an aggressive mood today,” she whispered.

  He responded with an unsteady smile of his own.

  “It’s also important to point out that Grantham regularly meets its Title IX requirements in terms of proportionality. With fifty percent of the student body female, we also have a fifty-fifty split between men’s and women’s sports.” He leaned forward and peered toward Mimi’s end of the table.

  Mimi was aware that he was singling her out. Don’t bother, she felt like telling him. I’m too wrung out from the morning to bother taking on chicken feed like you.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Reginald?” It was a voice seated in the middle of the panel.

  Mimi leaned forward, surprised to hear Vic speak up.

  “Yes, Vic,” Reginald answered. “I’m delighted to have one of our most successful athletes with us today.”

  “Well, I can think of quite a few Olympic medalists, not to mention more illustrious professional athletes who graduated from Grantham who might dispute that claim,” Vic said modestly. Then he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket.

  Mimi rubbed her upper lip.

  “I was curious about your figures regarding proportional representation.”

  The Athletic Director nodded.

  “A recent article in the New York Times dealt with subterfuges that some colleges are using to give the illusion that more women are participating in competitive sports than is actually the case,” Vic mentioned calmly.

  “For instance,” he went on, referring to his notes, “the coach of the women’s tennis team at one university actually encouraged walk-ons to join the team even though their abilities were far below the rest of the roster. They practiced with the team, but were not required to travel, and in fact, never played a match. Nonetheless, these players were included on the official team listing, thus boosting the total number of women players.” He turned his head to look at Reginald.

  “I can assure you that’s not the case at Grantham.” He made his remarks to the audience.

  Bad move, Dwight, she thought.

  Vic shifted in his chair. “Then maybe you could help me to understand the following. I’ve been doing research on the web, and I was surprised to see that the women’s fencing team regularly has eight members traveling and competing. Yet, according to the records filed with the government, the team is comprised of…let me see—” he peered at the figures “—twenty-five members. When I spoke with the coach earlier in the week—a terrific guy, by the way, and certainly someone who knows how to attract top players—he told me that those twenty-five included eight female players who haven’t broken into the top spots—what most of us think of as junior varsity. But that still left nine positions unaccounted for.” Vic looked up. “And that’s when I learned that the team uses male practice players, and that they are actually reported as members of the women’s fencing team, as well. So. You understand my confusion.”

  The athletic director’s neck got taut. “That’s all perfectly above board. Federal regulations allow that arrangement.”

  “But is it right?” Vic pressed him.

  Reginald lifted his hand. “With the government, right isn’t always the issue.”

  His response evoked some ripples of laughter.

  “You know, I think we can all applaud the impact Title IX has had on our sisters and daughters,” Vic continued in his methodical, polite fashion. “Since the law was passed the number of women athletes competing at the collegiate level has exploded by 500 percent.” For that number, he didn’t need to refer to his notes.

  There was a loud round of applause from the audience.

  “If I could jump in here.” Mimi held up her hand. Vic’s arguments had prompted her out of her intended aloofness. “But before I go on, Coach—” she looked at the panelist seated next to her “—could you take this.” She held her water glass high enough for everyone to see and handed it to her right.

  There were more than a few knowing murmurs.

  “As a proud alumna of Grantham University, I like to think we do things not just because we’re legally bound to do so, but because we believe it’s the just and honorable thing to do.” She paused to acknowledge the audience members. She didn’t make her living in front of the camera for nothing. “So in listening to this discussion, I can’t help wondering, ‘Are we morally cheating our students?’”

  The athletic director started to speak, but Mimi held up her hand. “Let me finish. After all, I’ve waited twelve years to say this.” She milked the crowd for all it was worth. “The chance to compete at a high level of sport at Grantham is a privilege, a privilege I might remind you, subsidized by tax dollars—all our tax dollars.” She made a circular motion with her hand. “When the university—our university—obeys the letter of the law but not the spirit, it not only mocks the purpose of the law, but it also cheats its women students.”

  Mimi sat back and waited for the onslaught. She saw people whispering in the audience. She tipped her chair back to see if she could get Vic’s attention, but he was slanted forward, leaning on his forearms.

  Conrad held up his hand. “Before we take questions from the audience, let me ask the rest of our panel members if anyone else care would care to comment?”

  “Okay, I’ll be brave, but then, maybe it’s easier for me to be brave than for others,” the Men’s Lightweight Crew coach spoke up. A beloved and highly successful figure, he’d won more national titles than any other coach in Grantham history. He numbered twelve Olympic champions as present or former members of his squad, and he himself coached two medal-winning Olympic teams.

  “Roster management, the polite term for padding team figures, is the two-ton gorilla of collegiate athletics. In the best of all possible worlds, I know I’d like to see instead an increase in the number of women’s teams. I’d even like to see the reinstatement of certain men’s teams, such as wrestling.”

  “Hear, hear,” came a cry from high in the audience.

  “But achieving equitable opportunities are not easy, especially in light of football—a money-generating sport with large team numbers. And given the current climate of budget constraints, expansion of other sports teams—men’s or women’s—is pretty much a no-go.”

  The athletic director nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. That’s it in a nutshell.” He acknowledged the coach, who Mimi saw, crossed his arms and didn’t smile back.

  “I mean, really, would you rather we cut back on football?” the director asked the audience jokingly. Then he turned to Vic. “I would think that you of all people, in light of your football career and given previous comments on this very panel would argue that’s utterly preposterous.” He held up his hands.

  Vic angled his head and spoke in a determined voice. “I’m very grateful for the opportunities that Grantham afforded me in my career. And I remember—probably better than anyone in this room, with the exception of my classmate at the end of the table—what I said twelve years ago.”

  Again, the knowing murmurs.

  “But Grantham also taught me to be a critical thinker,” Vic continued. “And when I was preparing for this panel discussion, I was amazed by the numbers. Five hundred percent increase,” he repeated. “I love sports, I loved participating in them at the highest level, and maybe some day I’ll have a daughter, and maybe because of Title IX, she’ll be able to enjoy sports the same way.”

  There was thunderous applause.

  Reginald sniffed loudly and rifled through his papers. “And are you accusing me of somehow inhibiting your fictional daughter of achieving her dreams?”

  Clearly, he’d lost it, Mimi realized. The question was, had Vi
c, as well?

  “I’m not accusing you of anything.” He remained unperturbed. “I’m merely bringing up a very real and complicated problem facing intercollegiate athletics today. I don’t claim to have the answers.”

  Reginald shook his head. He leaned toward Vic, sprawling his arm out on the table toward him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder about the origins of this whole discussion. True, there’ve been some articles in the paper. But I also heard from a bunch of people that they saw you two talking early the other morning outside the athletic facilities.” He pointed to Mimi. “Not that I’m insinuating anything, but somehow I can’t help thinking.” He held up one hand. “A football player.” Then he held up another. “An attractive woman who we all know is not afraid of controversy…” He weighed his two hands in turn.

  “Excuse me,” Mimi interrupted. “I resent that.”

  “I think you’d better apologize to Ms. Lodge.” Vic’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed to the back row.

  Mimi lifted her butt off the chair and leaned over the table to address Reginald directly. “I was going to say you should apologize to Mr. Golinski for implying that he isn’t capable of voicing a thought-provoking argument all on his own. I, on the other hand, am perfectly capable of defending myself.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to.” The male voice came from the other end of the panel. And that’s when the water pitcher upended on the athletic director.

  Only it wasn’t Vic.

  It was Conrad.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  MIMI FOUND HER FATHER outside the men’s room. He had gone in there soon after the session ended in pure pandemonium. He was still patting down the sleeves of his orange class blazer with paper towels as he reappeared.

  “Well, I guess you didn’t need to worry about the panel discussion running overtime,” she quipped.

  He looked up. “I’m not sure we’ll be invited for a third go-round, wouldn’t you agree?”