The Faculty Club

by Danny Tobey

  I’m not a particularly brave person. My school was small, and you were either in or you were out. And when you were out, you were really out.

  But something about the whole situation rubbed me the wrong way. So, I put my hand down. I looked at Vivek, and after a moment, his hand came back down too.

  I figured if God wanted to know what was in my heart, he could just look.

  Now I was Vivek, in this vast room of strangers of a very different religion. I just hoped some of the karma from that day might swing back around tonight.

  I was filled with a sudden sense of liberation. I started thinking of all the things I would do when tonight was over. I thought about that girl I met in the middle of the night and walked home, the one who spilled her oranges everywhere. I figured I might just march right up to her door, ring the doorbell, and ask her out. So what if she’d already turned me down? She was distraught. She thought I was judging her. She was judging herself. I wanted to tell her to lighten up, let it go, come have a slice of pizza and be a normal twenty-five-year-old for once. I mean, does everyone here have to take themselves so damn seriously? Is that what we get out of this school—the belief that everything we do is a matter of national importance? If that’s the case, I thought, it’s going to be hard to ever have fun again.

  I looked at myself in the mirror, straightened my tie, checked my teeth, and marched into the crowd.

  • • •

  Halfway through my second drink, I bumped into a walrus of a man, complete with a comically curled mustache. His tuxedo shirt strained at the buttons, and his woolly hair was parted on the left and traveled away from his cowlick in two heavily gelled waves. I don’t know if I walked into him or he walked into me; more likely, the crowd surged us together, until there was no choice but to say something. I would’ve been okay with “Excuse me,” but he raised a plate and showed me a half-devoured piece of cake.

  “I shouldn’t be eating this,” he confided.

  “Why not?”

  “Just had a quadro six months ago. Know what a quadro is?”

  “Not really.”

  “Quadruple bypass. Fucking doctors cracked my chest wide open. Got a scar from here to here. Nasty. Wife says I look like Frankenstein.”

  Frankenstein on an all-brownie diet, maybe.

  “Know the old saying ‘Live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse’?”

  “Sure. Like James Dean.”

  “Right-o. My motto is, ‘Live fast, see your cardiologist, and leave a fat old corpse!’”

  He gave a wheezy, disturbing laugh that involved his hands and shoulders. He mopped the walrus mustache with a handkerchief.

  “Beautiful ceremony, no?” he asked, mouth full of cake.

  Ceremony? What was he talking about?

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Good grief, man, the wedding.”

  What wedding?

  I decided to play along, for lack of a better plan.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It was great.” I held out my hand. “Jeremy Davis.”

  “Ah. Gordon Perry.” He crushed my hand in his meaty palm. “Bride’s side or groom’s side?”

  I gave him a chummy smile.

  “Guess,” I said.

  He scrunched his face up and scrutinized me. “Young. Handsome. Employable. Must be bride’s side.”

  “Right-o,” I said.

  “Ha! Maybe you can inform my wife I’m not a complete fucking idiot.”

  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

  “And what do you do for a living, Jeremy?” he asked, placing another forkful of cake into his crowded mouth.

  “I’m a law student,” I said.

  “Oh, great. That’s what this country needs. Another lawyer.”

  Okay, wait a second. Lawyer-bashing? Walrus men? Was I even at the right party?

  “Say,” he said, pointing his fork at me. “Know what you call ten thousand lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start!”

  He poked my chest with the back of his fork-holding hand and gave the wheezy laugh again, louder this time, his head and shoulders bobbing up and down until his face started to flush.

  Suddenly, behind the man I spotted Daphne, across the room in a black dress that dipped just slightly between her breasts. I felt a shock of excitement. Her hair was twisted up over her head, showing off the long, creamy curve of her neck. She was surrounded by a crowd of attentive men and unhappy-looking wives. Her eyes caught mine, and I felt a jolt shoot down my stomach.

  Without thinking, I took a step in her direction. It was a bit unsteady—how fast had I polished off those drinks?

  A thick walrus hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  “Wait, wait. A lawyer and a snake get run over in the middle of the road. How do you tell the difference?”

  I pinched my eyes closed for a second, took a deep breath, let it out.

  “How?”

  “The snake’s the one with tire marks in front of him!”

  The man got even redder this time. Little beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He dabbed at them with the handkerchief. I started to worry he was going to have another heart attack right here.

  I looked back to where Daphne had been, but she was gone. I felt an intense longing for that tan neck, the bright red lips, the blue eyes framed by black hair.

  “Myself, I’m in the life insurance game,” the walrus was saying. His eyes lit up, like a great idea had just occurred to him. “Say . . .” he said, poking my chest again.

  I pointed to my drink.

  “Looks like I could use a refill. Very nice meeting you.”

  I pressed deep into the room, trying to put as much crowd between me and my new friend as possible. Near the bar, I heard a familiar voice. I saw the tall, handsome figure of John Anderson, standing a full head above the crowd. He had his quarterback arms spread, each one around the shoulder of an older, distinguished-looking man.

  “Judge Hermann, I found a Raiders fan for you to argue with,” he said.

  Everyone in their circle laughed, and I felt a surge of envy. Great, I thought—he’s chatting with a judge, and I’m trading lawyer jokes with Archie Bunker.

  I decided not to pass through John’s view. I set out toward the opposite bar instead. I saw a table where a bride and groom were chatting with guests. Behind them was a band on a small dais, bronze horns and a cocktail singer in full swing. What the hell were we doing at someone’s wedding reception?

  A wave of relief spread over me as I spotted Nigel, chatting with a serious-looking older woman in an expensive suit.

  “Nigel,” I said, a little louder than I meant to. “Hey, Nigel!”

  He cast a quick glance at me and said something to the woman. They shook hands, and she handed him a business card from her fancy purse.

  He stepped over to me.

  “Jeremy,” he said brightly, giving me the once-over. “How are you, old chap?” He shook my hand like we hadn’t seen each other in years.

  “I don’t know, Nigel. This party. These people. It’s not what I expected.”

  “I see.” He stole a glance around me. A quick one, but long enough for me to catch him.

  “These are definitely not the people I expected to be associated with”—I lowered my voice to a pseudo-whisper—“you-know-what.”

  Was I somewhat drunk? All my words seemed a little harsher than I meant them.

  Nigel put his arm around me and led me toward the middle of the room. He said quietly, “I doubt very much that these people have anything to do with the V&D.”

  He looked at me, waiting.

  “So what are we doing here?”

  I was starting to feel angry, like everyone knew something I didn’t.

  “They’re watching us, Jeremy,” he whispered, his lips moving so slightly I could barely make out the words. “On the other side of the mirrors.” His gaze held me, keeping me from swinging my head around to the long, graceful mirrors that paneled the walls on all si
des of us. “They want to see how we socialize. If we can blend in, find the important people in the room.” Nigel came in close. “They’re watching us, and you need to get your shit together.” Suddenly, his voice was full volume and cheery. “I think you will love soccer, once you get over your Texan football obsession.” He gave a hearty laugh and clasped my shoulder. “My father has a wonderful box. We’ll get you over there soon, eh?” He smiled without a care in the world and walked away.

  I had a momentary flashback of checking my teeth in the mirror earlier tonight. I cringed. I pictured John Anderson cracking up the judges and politicians, reflected on every wall of the room. I decided to get drunk, under the delusion that I wasn’t already.

  At the bar, the man next to me smirked, like we were in on the same joke.

  “Can you believe this fuckin’ party?”

  He was one of those short, tense, beefed-up men who exude violence, the kind of guy who would wear a Texas hat into an Oklahoma bar. He was strapped with muscles and his tuxedo strained against them. I decided to give him a What can you do? shrug and then look away politely.

  “You seen Derrick?”

  The hairs on the back of my neck were up now. I should’ve just said no. I’m not sure why I didn’t.

  “Who’s Derrick?” I asked.

  “A big fuckin’ asshole, that’s who.”

  The artery on his temple was prominent, pulsing. He leaned into me, and I realized only then how wildly drunk he was.

  “He says, you think you can do my job better than me? And I said, yeah, I do. So he tells me to get the fuck out of his office. He doesn’t care if fifteen people are waiting for the fucking Care Flight. He’s got his own ass to cover, the fucking jerkoff. I say enough talk, just do it.” His voice was rising now, almost to a soft yell. “Just DO IT, I tell him. I was ready to tear his fucking HEAD off.” The artery was really popping now. People around us turned to see what the commotion was. Was he going to take a swing at me? Would his blood vessel explode first?

  “Are you hearing what I’m saying?”

  “Yes,” I said softly.

  “I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”

  “No, you’re not. Not at all.”

  He stared at me then like I’d just told him to go fuck himself.

  “Look, can I get you a drink?” I asked, pulling away a little.

  “You think I can’t afford my own drinks?”

  “No . . . I didn’t say that. I was just trying to be friendly.”

  “You some fucking queer?” he said.

  At that point, it became clear that I wasn’t going to win. More people were looking at us, but they hadn’t yet circled us into that timeless point of no return. Bet this was going over great with the boys behind the mirror. Were they munching on popcorn and placing bets?

  I backed away and hoped the drunker, more oblivious partiers would fill in between us a bit. He took a couple of lurching steps toward me, then stumbled and caught himself on a surprised man. I took that moment to turn and walk as fast as I could, as indirectly as I could, toward the other end of the room. I was feeling more sober by the second. The room was still packed, which was good. I prayed that Derrick’s friend was so drunk that his rage had already found a new target. Maybe a coatrack or a bar stool.

  I came out the other end of the thriving, rowdy crowd, back to the far corner where I’d started. It was still a quiet little enclave, and I stood against the wall and tried to think of ways the night could have gone worse. I felt someone looking at me. The tables around me were empty, except for an old, lonely-looking man sitting by himself. He was staring at me with inquisitive eyes under folds of pearly skin. He had a bad reddish toupee. He didn’t look away when I saw him. He held my gaze, and finally I went over and sat down at his table.

  “Having fun?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Not really.”

  He smiled.

  “Me neither. I don’t like parties.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  He chuckled, and then we sat quietly for a while.

  “Are you a student?” he asked, after a bit.

  “I am. I’m a law student.”

  “Oh,” he said, as if he had guessed as much. “So, tell me, why law?”

  “That’s easy,” I said. “My grandfather.”

  “A lawyer?”

  I nodded.

  “And you’re close?”

  “We were.”

  “Oh.” He studied my face. “He passed?”

  “Last year.”

  “I’m sorry. What was he like?”

  I smiled.

  “Tall. Really tall. He scared the hell out of people, he could seem really serious, but he was a teddy bear. He had this smile that was mostly in his eyes. Kids loved him. The first time I saw his wedding picture, I couldn’t believe it. He and my grandmother looked like movie stars. He was that handsome. People were drawn to him. He was shy, but people always came up to him. It’s hard to explain.

  “When I was a kid, I used to sit in a chair behind his desk and watch him talk to clients. He knew how to talk to people. He could joke with them, get them to open up. When people were upset, he could talk them through it. He was always calm. His eyes told you everything was going to be okay.”

  “I bet he was excited you were going to law school.”

  “I remember when he was sick . . .” I was startled to feel my eyes welling a little. I tried to swallow it down. “He said to me, ‘I’m sorry I won’t be around to help you.’”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him . . .” I paused, pinched my nose, and closed my eyes. “I told him he already taught me everything I knew about being a good person.” Why was I losing it in front of this guy? Why did I have so many drinks? “I told him I remembered a time we went to a football game. This small man in a bow tie took our tickets. And my grandpa said to him, ‘I know you. You’ve worked here a long time, haven’t you?’ The man said yes. My grandpa said, ‘You used to stand over there, but now you stand over here.’ You have to understand, this is the guy who tore the tickets. Hundreds of people passed him every day and didn’t say a word. I saw it in that guy’s eyes. It meant something. My grandpa was telling that man he mattered. That’s the kind of person he was.”

  I didn’t know what else to say.

  The man considered me for a minute. Then he looked behind me and said, “I think your ride is here, Mr. Davis.”

  I turned around. Behind me was the man from the house, Mr. Bones, still wearing his jacket and open-collared shirt. He put his arm on my shoulder and said, “Time to go.”

  I stood, but I turned back to the old man.

  “How did you know my name?” I asked him.

  “I know everything about you, Mr. Davis.”

  I felt a chill pass through me, a shiver.

  “I know where you live. I know what you do. I just wonder . . .” He said this last part quietly, almost to himself. He looked down at his hands on the table, as if I were already gone.

  “Wonder what?” I asked him.

  Mr. Bones was tugging on my arm now. He had the blindfold in his other hand. He was unrolling it to put it on me.

  “Wonder what?” I asked.

  Mr. Bones was trying to pull me away. But the old man looked up and met my eyes. The tug on my arm paused.

  “I just wonder if you want it badly enough,” he said.

  The blindfold came over my eyes, and I was left to ponder that question in the dark.

  I never saw the person come out of the shadows in the hallway in front of my door, after my walk home from 2312 Morland Street. It must have been four or five in the morning. I really had no idea. I was freezing. My ears were ringing from the cold. I just felt the hands close over my eyes, smelled the alcohol, felt the warm breasts press up against my back. I heard Daphne whisper in a husky voice into my ear that she’d been waiting for me. Her cheek was hot against my neck. Her lips were full and soft, moving in my ear, working her w
ords in soft vibrations on my skin. “I have an offer for you,” she said. She turned me around with her hands in my hair, on my waist, until I faced her.

  “I’m not going to lose,” she said softly, urgently, her sapphire eyes boring into mine. I tried not to look at the deep shadow between her breasts, her dress that clung to a perfect, full body. “I won’t leave it to chance,” she whispered. “It’s too close.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “But . . .” She smiled. “I’ve done my research. I know how to win.” She ran her hand down the side of my cheek, down my neck. She whispered into my ear. “The Thomas Bennett Mock Trial—it’s not perfect,” she said, her lips humming, “but I’ve traced the winners. It’s an edge. It can break a tie.

  “Think,” she said, looking down, letting her forehead touch mine, her lips moving inches from my lips. “Nigel and John are the talkers. You and I—we’re the brains. Pair the talkers with the brains, you have a competition. Maybe I have a good day, maybe you have a good day, who knows . . . But . . .” She met my eyes and smiled. “Put the two brains together, and the talkers have nothing to say. We crush them. They’re just two puppets with their hands up each other’s asses.”

  I saw it. “We take two spots, they fight over the third,” I whispered.

  “I knew you were smart,” she said, letting her lips graze mine. She pressed me against the door, her body pushing into mine. I felt points of warmth all down my front, her breasts on my chest, her stomach on mine, her thighs hot against my legs. God I wanted her. I wanted her like I’ve never wanted anyone. I wanted to pull her dress up over her waist right here in the hall, slide into her right here. “I read your article,” she said in that husky, teasing voice. She let her thighs slide back down against the bulge in my pants, then up again. “You did?” She let her hand trace lazily down my stomach, over my belt. “A little superficial,” she murmured, her nails grazing up the zipper of my pants, “otherwise, it was pretty good.” I grabbed her hand and jerked it away. “How many articles have you published?” I snapped.

  She pulled herself off me, swept her hair from her eyes. “Think about it,” she said. “It’ll be a good chance to get to know each other.”

  I watched her walk away down the hall, swinging her ass and taunting me.