One More Time

by Deborah Cooke

  “You must encourage excellence, Dr. Tucker. I’m sure that your fellows can provide some suggestions for you to use in the classroom.”

  It was ridiculously easy to tell one’s place from Dinkelmann’s manner of address: he only called the favored few by the first names. Leslie had found it a dubious, if not an unwelcome, distinction to be called by her first name.

  Naomi was not in that club, it was clear.

  “But sir, rewarding substandard efforts is counter-intuitive.” Naomi was wading in deep here, too deep to be saved. Everyone began to avidly take notes, which Leslie doubted were any more substantial than her own.

  She, for example, had written “Matt” on her notepad and drawn a box around it. She wrote “New Orleans” beneath his name, then crossed it out because she felt obliged to add “Sharan” and would not do that.

  Not even on paper. Instead, she wrote “Zach”, but couldn’t keep herself from adding a question mark. Her stomach roiled.

  Could a marriage end, just like that? Without her really knowing why? Without her having a chance to make it better? Leslie supposed that this happened all the time.

  To other people.

  She concentrated on not yacking chocolate chip muffin on her shoes.

  Naomi frowned as she spoke. “I don’t really see the problem with being known as a tough school. Surely that means that graduating students have a more marketable asset in their degree?”

  “The university, in these challenging times, feels compelled to ensure its own marketability first. And we will do that, each and every one of us, by stimulating our students and motivating them to learn!” Dinkelmann drove his fist into his palm. It was his favorite gesture of emphasis. “Academic excellence must be cultivated! Academic excellence must be courted with enthusiasm! Remember that our students will blossom into the researchers and instructors of the future. It is our obligation to ensure the future!”

  “But…”

  “Your point has been made and noted, Dr. Tucker. This is an expectation from the board of governors and thus it is an expectation of mine. You will ensure that the grades you give this semester cohere to the new plan or you will find yourself seeking other opportunities.”

  There was a collective inhalation and a few furtive glances were exchanged between the professors still seeking tenure. Leslie added little circles around her doodle, as if her husband’s name had become a Broadway sign.

  Or was reflected in another woman’s make-up mirror. Leslie began to scribble over everything but his name. Matt had to come back.

  Didn’t he?

  “But the scheme for grading has already been given to the students,” Naomi insisted. “And I’ve already marked their first essays. I can’t change the grading scheme without giving them cause for appeal.” She smiled, confident she’d scored a hit. “And that would make more work for you, Dr. Dinkelmann.”

  Dinkelmann’s tight smile said otherwise. “Then you must find a way to balance the two, Dr. Tucker. The solution is your problem to resolve, not mine.” It was clear to everyone in the room that Naomi had lost this particular battle.

  A dull flush tinged her neck. “I suppose I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Don’t think about it, Dr. Tucker. Do it.”

  There was a heartbeat of awkward silence in the room. Leslie would have quite happy remaining invisible for the duration of this meeting, but Dinkelmann had a special bonus for her.

  He gestured to her and she had a heartbeat to dread what he might say. “Here’s another example of finding solutions: Leslie, you have the distinction of the lowest grade averages per class in the entire department.”

  So much for no one noticing what she did. Clearly, she should have done a better job of fading into the woodwork.

  Or this was her bonus prize for being late.

  She forced a smile. “I take pride in rewarding excellence, sir.”

  “While that is commendable, I’ve looked at your grading schemes. You could make a marked difference in your grade averages by awarding full participation marks to all students.”

  Leslie blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yes.” Dinkelmann referred to his notes, which were apparently about Leslie’s grading. She felt a childish urge to snatch them off his lap, tear them up and stomp on them.

  Of course, she didn’t move at all.

  “You’ve allowed fifteen percent of each grade in each course for participation. It clearly follows that if you granted each student that fifteen percent automatically, your averages would then be fifteen percent higher and at that level, more consistent with the university’s expectations.”

  Leslie glanced around, seeing a few smirks. Some people were enjoying that she was being targeted: others were just glad it was her instead of them. She felt, abruptly, very alone.

  But that didn’t mean that she was afraid to fight. “With all respect, sir, students are supposed to participate to get that participation mark, hence the name. They’re supposed to show up, to do the readings and to contribute to any discussions, to actively be a part of their own education. It is my understanding that the intent of that mark is to acknowledge the efforts of students who actively participate but are not outstanding scholars.”

  Dinkelmann smiled thinly. “Perhaps it was a meaningful measure once, but now it is no more than a curiosity from the past. As historians, we can all appreciate that the social mores of former times seldom make sense later on.” He nodded to the group, inviting them to concur with him.

  An astonishing number of them did.

  He fixed her with a look. The Look. “With respect, Leslie, participation in any real sense is impossible to gauge, given current class sizes. It’s an arcane expectation and we need to look to the future of scholarship. We cannot expect more from students than they can reasonably be expected to give.” He removed his glasses and smiled benignly, exuding a paternal concern that was so at odds with his own ambition that Leslie felt an uncharacteristic urge to deck him.

  So, it was unreasonable to expect students to learn? Leslie had a hard time biting that comment back.

  She really needed to get herself a decent cup of coffee.

  “I do not need to remind any of you that annual tuition at this institution costs in excess of twenty thousand dollars, not including any living costs or even books, and that the people paying those bills, by and large the parents of the students, expect a commensurate value with that cost.”

  He fixed Leslie once more with The Look. She looked back, determined not to blink first, unconvinced as she was. He was surprised, she could see it, because she’d never defied him this much in the past.

  But this was important.

  The question was how important.

  At that thought, Leslie dropped her gaze. She knew she didn’t imagine Dinkelmann’s satisfied chortle.

  “Parents want their children to be A-students and the university is determined to fulfill that expectation,” he lectured to what he believed was a converted audience. “I merely suggest you all reconsider your marking criterion. Update it, perhaps, because even as historians, we dare not live in the past.” He chuckled, pleased with his joke, and there were a few smiles in response.

  Leslie pretended to make a note to herself. There was no chance she’d forget this travesty of a suggestion, even though she wasn’t sure what to do about it. For the moment, she hoped that Dinkelmann proved himself to be like past chairmen determined to inflict change on the department: she hoped his attention was fleeting and his memory poor. She hoped she could keep her head down and by the time the marks came in, he would have forgotten all about this nonsense.

  It was worth a shot. It had worked before, after all.

  Was that what Matt had done? Had he been slipping away, or changing quietly, over the years while her attention had been diverted?

  Leslie sat up straight. If so, he had every justification for being angry with her. She’d been so busy tap-dancing here, ensuring her tenu
re, guaranteeing their income, that she hadn’t done much else.

  Dinkelmann peered around and must have noticed how many sat with heads bent, apparently cowed. He smiled, content with what he had wrought. “Anyone else?” There was a lot of shuffling and mumbling that could have passed for assent, then Dinkelmann dismissed them.

  One more meeting survived. Leslie felt as if she should get a commemorative plaque.

  Maybe a new bra.

  Twenty-four hours of wild sex with Matt. That would be better. They’d be too tired to fight then.

  Of course, they’d have to be in the same city for that to work. she would not think about him having twenty-four hours of wild sex with Sharan.

  She wouldn’t. Not for one minute.

  Troubled by the turn of her thoughts, Leslie headed quietly back to her office alone.

  Or so she thought.

  Chapter Three

  “So, why do I feel like we’ve just been sent to the arena?” Naomi Tucker asked. Leslie glanced back to find her younger co-worker closing fast. “Naked Christians chucked out to feed the lions, while the crowd goes wild watching the show. For Christ’s sake…”

  “Wasn’t that the point?” When Naomi looked blank, Leslie explained her attempt at a joke. “It was for Christ’s sake that so many of them put themselves in circumstances that would lead to their martyrdom, if I recall correctly.”

  “Haha,” Naomi said without humor. “I’m serious, Leslie. It’s outrageous that he could demand that we do this.”

  Naomi was a tall and easy-going kid, relatively new to the department. She had a sparkling fresh doctorate degree on the wall of her office from this very institution and was easy to like. She was also an excellent scholar of Roman history, with several published articles already under her belt.

  “It’s pretty easy to see Dinkelmann as an emperor demanding to be entertained,” Leslie admitted, then immediately wished she could pull the words back. It wasn’t like her to be so indiscrete.

  But Naomi laughed. “Let’s get him a gilded wreath of laurel leaves. I can have the theater department rig up something and leave it anonymously.”

  “He’d figure it out. You’re going to need a sense of self-preservation, Naomi, if you intend to have a career in academia.”

  “A tolerance for double-speak, maybe,” Naomi scoffed. “You’re probably going to follow his edict, aren’t you? Always the one to make the rest of us look bad.” There was no malice in her words, but Leslie was still surprised.

  She stopped. “I don’t try to make anyone look bad.”

  “No, you just make everything look easy. It kind of falls out. More grad students to advise? Everyone says it can’t be done, but Dr. Coxwell takes on three more, and remember she’s already advising more than any of us. Bigger classes? Everyone’s ready to fight tooth and nail to have classes split, but you handle it with aplomb.” Naomi glanced aside, smiled, lowered her voice. “You know, I’ve always wanted to use that word. Aplomb. It has a ripe Renaissance kind of feel to it, don’t you think?”

  “I think it is Renaissance, from the French.”

  “Oh, so I’m not allowed to use it, is that it?”

  Leslie shook her head solemnly. “Anachronism, Naomi. You’ve got to watch out for it.”

  The other woman laughed easily. “But back to my point, and I do have one. You accommodate everything Dinkelmann asks, even when the rest of us think it’s impossible. Lecturing to five hundred? No problem if you’re Dr. Coxwell. Grading their five hundred essays? You’ll have it done over the weekend.” She sighed. “I could hate you, Leslie, if I didn’t like you so much already.”

  “Thanks for that.” Leslie shrugged. “Remind me never to introduce you to my teenage daughter.”

  Naomi chuckled.

  Surely Naomi was exaggerating about people disliking her? Leslie wished she could be sure. She didn’t usually give advice, but felt she should make an exception today. “The thing is, Naomi, I don’t think Dinkelmann is going to change his mind. There’s no point fighting him, especially in front of the whole department. You’ll only annoy him.”

  “You know him that well?”

  “It’s human nature. And he’s ambitious. He won’t like anyone who doesn’t make him look good.”

  “You’re not even going to quibble over this edict?” Naomi was incredulous. “I might have to get over liking you, Leslie.”

  Leslie took a deep breath and didn’t say anything. She didn’t know yet what she was going to do.

  Naomi seemed to sense her indecision. “He’s going to be watching you, you know, to set the tone. He already singled you out, mighty star Coxwell.”

  Leslie shifted her load of books, disliking the logic of that. “No, you’re wrong. He was just making a point.” She didn’t quite believe that herself and wasn’t able to summon enough oomph for the assertion to sound persuasive.

  “Imagine, a full fifteen percent participation mark in a class of Crabcake Coxwell’s, just for having a pulse.” Naomi nodded with enthusiasm. “There’s going to be cheering in the streets. I wish I was a few years younger: I might have aced your course instead of scoring a B.”

  “A B-plus, as I recall.”

  “Your memory’s better than mine, then.” She grinned. “Of course, they don’t actually have to prove they have a pulse, do they?”

  “It hasn’t happened yet,” Leslie noted.

  “So, what are you going to do? Defy him?” There was a gleam of anticipation in Naomi’s eye.

  Leslie shook her head, knowing she couldn’t risk making waves. “Dinkelmann will let it go, you’ll see. He can’t fire all of us—a lot of us have tenure.”

  Who was she trying to convince?

  “What about grad school referrals? You know they’re due next week.”

  “Thanks for that. I’d forgotten.”

  “I’m sure this means that we’re supposed to give glowing referrals to students who barely showed for class. Gotta keep those billables up in the graduate school.” Naomi made a sound beneath her breath that could have been an expletive.

  Although Leslie agreed, she was cautious about voicing her thoughts. “Be serious.”

  “I am.” Naomi gave her a wry look. “But what have you got to worry about? There can’t be that many brave enough to ask you for a referral.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “I’ve got forty.”

  Leslie smiled despite herself. “They think you’re a soft touch. You’d better nip that in the bud, Naomi, because Dinkelmann will hear about it if some of them are disappointed. With that many, odds are that someone will be displeased.”

  “How about yours? Are they all deserving?”

  “Sadly, no.” Leslie shrugged. “But they don’t expect a glowing referral from me. If I say any one of them is acceptable or has potential, he or she will be over the moon.”

  “What about the ones who aren’t? No one’s going to welcome the ‘keep this kid out of grad school at all costs’ letter.”

  “Oh, there are ways to say things.”

  “Aha, someone finally admits that there is a secret language of the referral letters!” Naomi rubbed her hands together in mock glee. “Do I get a decoder ring so I can play too?”

  “Not until you get tenure. It’s like seeking the Holy Grail: you’ve got to earn your reward before you get it.”

  “Now, wait a minute.” Naomi propped a hand on her hip, eyes sparkling. “Don’t you think it’s fundamentally wrong for a Roman scholar to be seeking a Holy Grail?”

  “You were the one comparing yourself to a Christian martyr.” Leslie smiled as she stopped to unlock her office door.

  “Touché.”

  The stupid lock was jammed again, and Leslie wiggled the key in the push-pull-turn-wriggle combination that had worked the last time. To her amazement, it worked again.

  Maybe her luck was changing.

  As if. She could almost hear Annette’s snort.

  Naomi lingered. Leslie hoped wi
th every bit of hope left in her—which wasn’t much—that she didn’t want a favor. She didn’t want to turn Naomi down, but really, she was at hour thirty-six in the labor analogy and she was pretty sure she couldn’t take on anything more.

  Giving away the fifteen percent participation mark to everybody. What was in Dinkelmann’s head?

  Naomi shoved one hand in her pocket, looking suddenly young and uncertain. “Leslie, I’m concerned about this. You’re not really going to back Dinkelmann on this policy, are you?”

  Leslie looked up and down the hall before she answered, and even then, she lowered her voice. “We’re talking about professional integrity. What choice do I have? The thing is that I doubt he’ll even notice. Just do yourself a favor: don’t challenge him in meetings and this whole thing will blow over.”

  “You don’t think he’s going to go over your grades with a red pencil?”

  “He wouldn’t. It would be wrong.” She shook her head, even as she wondered. Would he? “He’ll be on to the next reform tomorrow and by the time the marks come in, he’ll have so many changes to manage that he’ll forget to police this one.”

  Unfortunately, that didn’t even sound plausible to Leslie.

  “I don’t think so.” Naomi peered at her, suddenly sober. “I’ve heard about this edict being handed down in other departments, too. The university is serious about it—low grade averages are affecting their ability to draw new students.”

  “So, it’s all about revenue.” Leslie spoke without thinking. “Like we’re selling a consumer product, not an education or a future.”

  That was just the kind of reality check she needed.

  Naomi added another. “Did you hear that Dias got tenure as part of the deal when they hired him?”

  She stared at the younger teacher, aghast. “Tenure? That kid?” Naomi nodded. “But he’s coming here directly from Austin, he hasn’t even defended his thesis yet…”

  “Dinkelmann thinks he’s a star. You should check out his website.” Naomi smiled wryly. “Dias thinks he’s a star, too, so they’re in agreement.”