Tooth and Nail: A Novel Approach to the SAT (A Harvest Test Preparation Book)

by Charles Harrington Elster

  “Nine years—long enough to become thoroughly hidebound and cynical,” Torres replied. She looked around the table at the three young women, her eyes twinkling with mischievous irony. “I suppose I should warn you. I’ve got a reputation to maintain. The students call me the Dragon Lady. If you take one of my classes, you’ll see what they mean.”

  “Boy, I’m sure glad I wasn’t planning to major in English,” Juliet said. Everyone laughed.

  Caitlin decided she liked the professor’s feisty and forthright attitude. “What did you do before coming here?” she asked, wanting to know more about this intriguing woman.

  “I taught at Middlebury College in Vermont for three years,” Torres said, “and at UCLA for two. That’s where I got my doctorate. I got my B.A. at the University of Arizona. I’m from Tucson, originally—the seventh and youngest child of wonderful, loving, hardworking parents.” She took a bite of food, then wiped her mouth carefully with her napkin. “My parents never had the benefit of a college education, but they managed to provide that opportunity for five of their children. I’ll never forget the proud look on their faces the day I received my B.A.”

  Professor Torres fell silent, as if remembering the moment. Then she looked around the table and smiled. “Well, that’s enough talk about me. Now I’d like to know more about you three. Caitlin, your accent tells me you’re from New York. Am I right?”

  As Leo and Bill led Phil and his roommates across the East Quad courtyard and onto a tree-lined pathway, the conversation turned toward the three freshmen’s plans. Leo asked about their majors.

  “Economics,” Chris replied matter-of-factly. “I’d like to get into the the five-year B.A.–M.B.A. program.”

  “That’s very competitive,” Leo said. “But if you stay focused, I’m sure you’ll do all right.”

  Phil wondered how anyone could be so certain about what he wanted to do with his life. Economics—he had always assumed it was a tedious subject, filled with graphs and statistics, but now that he’d heard this field of study declared so emphatically by Chris, he thought he might have been too hasty in his judgment. Perhaps he’d try an econ course second semester.

  “You want to go into business after college?” Leo asked Chris.

  “Yup.”

  “And make a lot of money?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Can’t argue with that. You have to promise me one thing though, Chris.”

  “Sure. What’s that?”

  “Ten years from now,” Leo said, “when you’ve made your first million, promise me you won’t forget your old freshman counselor. It doesn’t have to be a lot, just a small, round, memorable figure—say, an even ten grand, okay? You won’t forget?”

  “Don’t listen to him, Chris,” Bill said. “Leo’ll never need anything from you or me. The guy got 1590 on the SAT, and the one question he got wrong he proved was ambiguous, but they wouldn’t change his score. Leo’s exceptional—summa cum everything. He’s won every prize there is to win. It’s more likely we’ll be asking him for a handout.”

  “And you,” Leo said, ignoring his roommate and turning to Jimmy. “What are you planning to study?”

  “Literature, I think,"Jimmy said. “Right now I’m most interested in Elizabethan England. I love Marlowe and Jonson and Kyd. And Shakespeare, of course. He’s the greatest of all.”

  Who were Marlowe, Jonson, and Kyd? Phil wondered. Members of a law firm? He began to suspect that his roommates had prepared their answers. They sounded so certain. And now it seemed inevitable that Leo would pose this same question to him. Maybe he should prepare an answer as well. Engineering? History? Pre-law? Art? Phil tried to picture these different versions of his future self, but the picture failed to clarify.

  “Well, this is the time and place for it,” Leo told Jimmy. “Holyfield is hosting an Elizabethan Festival for the next two weeks. Did you see Bill’s article on it in the Herald? There’ll be all sorts of things going on. The festivities kick off tonight with a production of Romeo and Juliet. You should go.”

  Jimmy said he’d love to, and Chris and Phil agreed to go along.

  Leo patted Phil’s shoulder. “And what are you planning to study, Phil? Got any ideas yet?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe engineering. Or maybe history—I’m pretty good at that. Pre-law is also a possibility. Or maybe art, because I like drawing and photography.”

  “Excellent,” Leo said, to Phil’s surprise. “You should try as many different subjects as you can before settling on anything. Let curiosity and instinct be your guide. ‘In brief, sir, study what you most affect.’”

  “Isn’t that line from Shakespeare?” Jimmy asked.

  “The Taming of the Shrew, my man,” Leo said. He turned to Phil. “The point is, don’t feel pressured to fit yourself into some predetermined category that doesn’t suit you. You have to follow your own predilections. I changed my major twice, and I’m glad I did.”

  “I agree,” said Bill. “I’m putting my plans to go to law school on hold for a year so I can run the Herald. It was too interesting an opportunity to pass up. And you never know. Maybe I’ll decide to go to journalism school instead.”

  Phil was gratified by their generous response. He breathed a quick sigh of relief and looked across Holyfield Street. Adjacent to the commanding bell tower stood a grave, windowless building about three stories high. Symmetrical turrets rose from the front corners of the flat roof. A massive door made of planks fastened together with black iron hinges was shut tight.

  “That building over there,” Phil said. “What’s it used for? It looks like a miniature castle.”

  “Seems more like a grandiose mausoleum to me,” Jimmy said.

  Bill laughed. “In a way it is. That’s Tooth and Nail. It’s a secret society.”

  “A what?” Chris asked.

  “A secret society, like those famous ones at Yale—Skull and Bones, Scroll and Key, Book and Snake, and a bunch of others. It’s basically just a glorified fraternity, but no one’s supposed to know who its members are.”

  “If it’s supposed to be such a secret,” Jimmy said, “how come you know about it?”

  Bill laughed again. “I’m a journalist. It’s my business to dig up information. Back in the ’30s and ’40s and ’50s, secret societies were a big deal at Holyfield. There were four or five of them and secrecy was strict. But today they’re practically obsolete. In fact, Tooth and Nail is the last one on campus. No one really takes it seriously anymore.”

  Phil was puzzled. “What did these societies have to hide? Were they involved in illicit activities or something?”

  “Not exactly,” Bill said. “Elitism may be deplorable, but it’s usually not illegal. In general, Holyfield’s secret societies—like Yale’s—functioned as highly exclusive networks for the rich and powerful. They weren’t necessarily corrupt, but membership had its benefits, as they say, and ensured a prosperous career.

  “It’s said that Tooth and Nail was founded by Edward Anthony Prospero himself back in 1919 as a literary club,” Bill went on. “But by the late ’30s it had become an elitist secret society. That’s when they built that ostentatious building. Later, during the ’60s and ’70s, there were rumors it had turned into a kind of neo-Nazi brotherhood that allegedly practiced some strange rituals.

  “The society’s not as intensely secretive as it once was. It’s common knowledge now that Prospero’s grandson, Teddy, has the run of the place—and apparently he’s been running it into the ground. There’s been talk of financial problems, and in the past couple of years the college administration has been quietly considering trying to rescind its charter and shut it down. These days I doubt membership in Tooth and Nail could further anyone’s career.”

  “This Prospero character,” Phil said. “Is the gate to East Quad named after him?”

  “Right.”

  “Who was he?” Phil asked as they arrived at Steinbach Commons. From the huge dining hall inside a hubbub of excite
d chatter and laughter and shouts and the clinking of glasses and silverware reached their ears. The question was forgotten for the moment.

  Caitlin took a sip of coffee, then turned to Carmen Torres. “I think I saw your name in the Herald today,” she said. “Aren’t you one of the literary executors for the Prospero collection of rare books and manuscripts?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Torres said.

  “I’m hoping to become a staff writer for the paper, so I’m looking for some good story ideas. Would you mind if I proposed something on your involvement with the collection?”

  “I don’t know if my involvement will be all that exciting, but you’re certainly welcome to interview me, and I’d be happy to introduce you to the other executors.”

  Caitlin smiled. “Oh, that’d be great . . . Carmen.”

  “The first thing you need to do, though,” Torres said, pointing across the dining hall, “is talk to that guy standing in line over there. His name’s Bill Berkowitz, and he’s the editor of the Herald. He’s also an exemplary student.”

  Caitlin looked across the wide room at the crowded line of students waiting to enter the kitchen. “Which one is he? The dark-haired guy in the red-and-white varsity jacket?”

  “No, Bill’s the tall skinny guy with curly hair and glasses standing in front of him. He’s wearing a Holyfield sweatshirt.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Caitlin said. She stood up. “I think I’ll get some more coffee. Anybody want anything?”

  Chapter 6

  The Prospero Enigma

  As Phil stood in line, his stomach growled in response to the smell of food, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since that morning.

  It was warm inside the dining hall. Phil took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. If somebody wants to comment on my shirt, fine, he thought. I’m not going to let it bother me.

  Leo poked Phil’s arm. “Hey, I have to check something on the bulletin board. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  As Bill and Chris and Jimmy cracked jokes and took in the boisterous atmosphere, Phil watched Leo walk back through the dining hall doors into the common room, where he was accosted by an impeccably dressed student whose pretty-boy face was twisted in an angry scowl. The encounter looked anything but amiable. The pretty boy was shaking his fist and seemed to be yelling at Leo, who stood listening with his arms crossed, apparently indifferent to this display of animosity.

  Phil looked at Bill and saw that he was oblivious to what was going on with Leo. He was still talking enthusiastically with Chris and Jimmy and was right in the middle of describing some summer exploit when a young student in a stylish leather jacket interrupted him. She had striking blue eyes and long, wavy black hair. The girl from Prospero Gate, Phil thought.

  “Excuse me. Are you Bill Berkowitz?” she asked.

  Bill turned. “Yes?”

  “Hi. I’m Caitlin Ciccone,” she announced briskly, stepping forward and extending her hand.

  Phil found her face alluring. Her expression was placid and poised, but her beguiling eyes sparkled with vitality.

  “Nice to meet you, Caitlin,” Bill said, shaking her hand.

  “I hear you’re the editor of the Holyfield Herald.”

  “That’s right. What can I do for you?”

  “I want to be a reporter.”

  “Well, you don’t waste any time, do you?”

  “I try not to.”

  “You’re a freshman?”

  “Yes.”

  Bill paused and scrutinized Caitlin for a moment. “Now look,” he said, scratching the back of his head, “I can’t promise you anything. But come by the Herald tomorrow and we’ll see what we can do, okay?”

  “What time?”

  “Usually I’m down there bright and early, but tomorrow’s Sunday—my one day to sleep in. How does eleven o’clock sound?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Do you have some writing samples you can show me?”

  Caitlin nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Do you know where the office is?”

  “Yes, in the Student Center.”

  “Right,” Bill said. “Next to the rear entrance to the building there’s a flight of steps to the basement.” He smiled. “It’s a subterranean office. Very cozy.”

  Caitlin flashed a smile in return. “Thanks, Bill. See you tomorrow.” As she turned to leave, her eyes met Phil’s for an instant. She hesitated.

  “Nice shirt,” she said coolly, then walked away.

  Phil watched her disappear into the crowd. He wondered if she was serious or just making fun of him.

  Jimmy’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, Bill. Who’s that guy arguing with Leo over there?”

  Bill looked to where Jimmy pointed. Phil turned and saw Leo and Pretty Boy now engaged in a hostile exchange, both talking angrily at once.

  Bill snorted with derision. “That’s Teddy Prospero.”

  “The guy from Tooth and Nail?” Phil asked.

  “Yeah. He’s a royal pain in the neck.”

  They watched as Teddy stuck his finger in Leo’s face, growled a few final words, and then stomped off. Leo shook his head, then walked away in the opposite direction.

  “They don’t seem to like each other much,” Chris said.

  Bill chuckled. “It’s a mutually antagonistic relationship.”

  The line advanced and they entered the kitchen. As they picked up trays, silverware, and napkins from a row of dispensers at the end of the counter, Phil looked over his shoulder.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Leo?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry,” Bill said. “He’ll find somebody to cut in with and join us in a couple of minutes.”

  Phil watched perfunctory servers scoop up unappetizing portions of meat, potatoes, gravy, and cooked vegetables from trays on steam tables and plop identical mounds on their plates. Oh well, he thought, I can always fill up on salad if the food is really as bad as it looks.

  “So what’s this guy Teddy’s beef with Leo?” Chris asked as Bill led the freshmen to an empty table. They settled down to eat and Bill began expounding on the origin of the hostility between the two students.

  “All last year,” Bill explained, “Leo worked part-time as an assistant to Edward Anthony Prospero. He did research for him, handled his correspondence, and helped him revise some of his scholarly writings, in particular his Shakespeare concordance. Well, as I said, Leo’s a star pupil, and the old man took a shine to him, began to think of him as his grandson in spirit if not in name. For when Prospero died last month, at the ripe old age of 93, in his will he named Leo one of the executors of this voluminous and incredibly valuable private library that he donated to the college. They’ve just finished building a new wing to hold it, which they’re going to dedicate at the end of the Elizabethan Festival.”

  “Ah, yes,” Jimmy said. “I read your excellent article about that in the paper. It was quite enlightening.”

  “Thanks, pal, but there’s no need to stroke my ego,” Bill said, patting Jimmy on the back. “Unless, of course, you’re hoping to land a spot on the Herald masthead,” he added with a wink at Phil and Chris.

  Jimmy showed no perturbation at being the butt of Bill’s joke. “I hadn’t planned on becoming a journalist,” he said with perfect equanimity, “but it never hurts to have an illustrious senior as an ally.”

  Bill grinned. “I can tell you’re going to do just fine in college, Jimmy.”

  “Bill, isn’t being an executor a great honor?” Phil asked.

  “Yeah,” Chris said, “isn’t Leo a little young for that kind of responsibility?”

  Bill nodded. “That’s just the point. Prospero took Leo into his confidence, like a trusted colleague or a close relative. Of course that alienated Teddy, especially when he found out his grandpa had left him zip and had made Leo an executor of the collection.”

  “So envy is the source of Teddy’s enmity toward Leo then?” Jimmy asked.


  “In a nutshell, yes.” Bill took a bite of food and continued. “I have to admit, it cracks me up every time I imagine what Teddy’s face must’ve looked like when they read his grandfather’s will. Leo was there, and he told me the will said something like ‘And to my grandson, Edward, I leave the wish that one day he’ll read a play by Shakespeare instead of a pornographic magazine or a junk-bond prospectus.’” Bill burst out laughing and slapped the table. “What a joke! Can you believe that?” he said, looking around at the three freshmen.

  “Do you know why Prospero cut Teddy out of his will?” Phil asked between mouthfuls. He was making some headway with his dinner, which wasn’t as bad as it looked after all.

  Bill took a sip of soda. “No one really knows. Some people think Prospero disowned Teddy when Teddy took over Tooth and Nail. Others say he didn’t approve of some of his grandson’s dubious pastimes. Another theory is that the old man simply decided to spread his wealth around. You see, Teddy’s father, who was Prospero’s only child, made a lot of money in the stock market. When he died of a heart attack a few years ago, Teddy reportedly got a fat inheritance in the form of a trust fund. So maybe Old Man Prospero thought, why give Teddy more money when he already seems spoiled by what he has?”

  Leo appeared at the table wearing a somber expression. “Sorry I took so long,” he said, setting down his tray of food and taking the empty chair next to Phil.

  “Hey, Leo. These guys saw you and Teddy arguing and they want to know something,” Bill said. “Is Edward Anthony Prospero III an arrogant boor, a malicious lunatic, or what?”

  The muscles around Leo’s mouth tightened. Then he sighed. “Teddy’s just going through a covetous phase brought on by his grandfather’s death. He’s got that ‘lean and hungry look,’ like Cassius in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.” Leo looked at his roommate. “You know, Bill, you should stop talking so much. Everybody else is half-finished and you’ve hardly touched your plate.”

  Something in his freshman counselor’s tone told Phil it would be a good idea to change the subject. “What about Old Man Prospero?” he asked Leo. “Can you tell us what he was like?”