From the corner of my eye, I saw Adam surrounded by a thick knot of college benefactors, all dressed in suits, some wearing bow ties in the Fairfax College colors. A lavish spread of cheese, fruit, and crudités had been arranged on two long banquet tables, along with a dessert display of miniature tarts, brownies, and cheesecake bites. In the center was a huge three-tiered cake with the college seal piped in red and gold on the top. “Congratulations, President Martinez,” it said in cursive script.
“This feels like a wedding,” I said.
“The union of President Martinez and the college,” Larry said. He grabbed a Thai-chicken skewer from a passing waiter and nibbled on it tentatively. “Not bad,” he said. “I can’t wait for the cake.”
We walked up the back porch stairs and into the house, where servers were walking back and forth from the kitchen with trays of hors d’oeuvres and empty glasses.
“Let’s take a look around!” Larry said, conspiratorially. “Just for a quick sec.”
The mansion’s public rooms were large and gracious and were often used for campus holiday parties or receptions. I’d been in them a few times before, drinking warm punch while staring at the large paintings of past presidents that hung on the wall. The rooms were empty now and bathed in a warm light. Larry and I stood for a moment on the thick Persian rugs, surveying the intricately carved wooden fireplace, the antique furniture that lined the walls, the stained glass windows, and the elegant flower arrangements scattered around like in a magazine spread. It was hard to believe that this was now Adam’s house. How different it was from his college dorm room, with its cinder block walls and threadbare carpet!
“He had the furniture reupholstered,” Larry said approvingly. “I like it.”
We drifted into an adjoining room where the previous president, a military buff, had once displayed his large collection of antique muskets and swords. The room had felt like a museum exhibit, with its glass cases of weaponry and mounted deer heads on the wall.
“Oh, wow,” Larry said, peeking in. “He totally redid it!”
I peered inside and gasped. Adam had turned the room into a library and reading alcove. The guns and taxidermy specimens were gone, replaced by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with books, books, and more books. A rolling ladder leaned against the shelves. A comfortable leather couch and club chairs were arranged against one wall, and a window seat had been built under the stained glass windows, large enough and deep enough to read comfortably for hours or even stretch out and take a nap.
“I die,” Larry whimpered. “It’s his own home library.”
I watched as Larry inspected the books on the shelves. “Oh my God,” he cried, pulling one out and opening it. “They’re real!” He started pulling book after book off the shelves. “He’s got good taste, too!” he called out over his shoulder. “Lots of literature and history, the complete Shakespeare, the complete Austen. And they’ve been read. There are even notes inside! I think I might be in love.”
I leaned against the doorsill, feeling sick to my stomach.
Back in college, Adam and I had fantasized about living in a small college town, in a home filled with books and comfortable places to read and maybe a pet or two. We liked to wander around Princeton, into the gracious neighborhoods abutting the campus, gawking at the grand old houses with their stone and brick facades, painted shutters, and autumn wreaths hanging on the front door, imagining our lives in twenty years.
“That one’s my favorite,” I remember telling Adam, pointing to a gray stone house with white-trimmed gables and a bright red door, a child’s wagon resting on the front porch. “I like that one better,” he said, pointing to a red brick house that looked like Monticello, with its white columns and dark green shutters. “Or that one,” he said, pointing to a white clapboard house with a widow’s walk that stretched across the entire roof.
“Could you imagine living in one of them?” I remember asking dreamily. “I mean, look at that!” I pointed to a house with a large dormer window. We could see a whole wall of books through the glass. “That’s my dream library,” I sighed.
“I’ll buy it for you one day,” Adam laughed. “Once I make my fortune.”
“What fortune?” I joked.
“I might not be able to get you the house, but I promise you can have your dream library,” he said.
Seeing Adam’s library now made me feel ill with want. I felt like he’d stolen part of my dreams, like he was living the life I’d wanted. “This was supposed to be my library,” I wanted to scream. Was he taunting me? Showing me the life I could have had if we hadn’t broken up?
“Let’s go,” I snapped. “I need another drink.” I hurried out of the library in a cloud of self-pity and fury, not waiting to make sure Larry was following.
“Anne!” I heard. I spun around, my face a thundercloud.
“What?” I snapped.
Adam was standing in front of me, a glass of wine in one hand.
“Whoa,” he said. “Are you all right?” He instinctively reached his hand out to touch my shoulder but then pulled back self-consciously.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said. “It’s nothing.” I forced myself to smile. I couldn’t think straight. His eyes were the same dark brown color I remembered, with the same thick lashes and heavy lids that gave him such a pensive look. I could see the clean line where the barber had shaved his sideburns. He’d gotten a haircut recently—maybe even that morning. I could swear I smelled the lingering scent of aftershave.
We stood there a moment, Adam fiddling with his wineglass.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said. “I saw you in the chapel earlier. How are you doing?”
“Me? I’m fine. You know, busy, um, with stuff.”
“It’s been a long time . . .” Adam trailed off.
I nodded. We stood there awkwardly for a second. “So, um, how about you?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “How does it feel to be President Martinez?”
“It’s a little surreal,” Adam said, looking around the room. “Just trying to process it all.” He looked at me, not unkindly. “How’s your family doing?”
“They’re OK. Lauren’s in LA now. She’s married and has three kids.”
“And your father?”
“Oh. Well, actually, he’s not doing so well. He, um, he’s been having some health issues recently, and we think it’s better if he moves out here, closer to us.”
“I’m so sorry,” Adam said, looking genuinely concerned. “I hope he’s OK.”
“He’ll be fine,” I said. “He’s a tough guy. Always has been.”
“That’s true,” Adam said. “He is tough.”
I reddened. Adam had met my father once, when I’d brought him to Florida for Thanksgiving break. My father had spent the whole time ignoring Adam, instead complaining about his tenants and yelling at the television. When I tried to broach the subject of our engagement, my father had cut me off. Switching the subject, he’d asked if I’d given more thought to law school, and when I said no, he’d started on Adam, informing him that his “Latin background” meant he’d get into any law school he wanted. Years later, I still cringed at the memory.
“What are you teaching in your classes?” Adam was now asking.
“Oh, the standard,” I babbled. “Austen, the Brontës, Gaskell, Eliot, plus some other, lesser-known writers.”
Adam was nodding at the names in recognition. He suddenly grinned, looking like the boy I remembered from college. “Remember when you took that class with Dr. Russell junior year—the one where she assigned a novel a week and you had to keep pulling all-nighters to keep up?” he asked.
“Don’t remind me,” I laughed, surprised at how natural and pleasant it all seemed. “I promise I’m not so cruel to my own students, though they still like to complain about the reading load.”
“I bet,” Adam said. “Well, it sounds like a great syllabus. I kind of wish I were taking the class myself.”
&
nbsp; “You’re more than welcome to drop by anytime,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness.
“Maybe so. You’ll have to send me the reading list. Which Austen are you reading again?”
“Oh!” I said. “Well, um, actually, this semester I’m teaching Persuasion.” I felt my face grow warm. Adam, too, seemed suddenly embarrassed.
“Your favorite novel,” he murmured.
“Ha-ha, yes. I’m surprised you still remember.”
“Of course I still remember,” Adam said, his eyebrow cocked. “How could I forget? Is it still your favorite novel?”
“I guess so,” I said, feeling almost ashamed. He must be wondering how anyone could still be so foolishly loyal to a two-hundred-year-old book.
“That’s great,” he said softly. “It must be wonderful to be teaching books you love. I’m happy for you—you seem like you’re doing really well.” He paused, as if uncertain whether to go on.
“I’ve done a lot of thinking,” he began again, “about what happened—”
“Anne! Where’d you go? Look who I found!”
Larry was lurching toward us, dragging with him a faintly bemused-looking Rick Chasen.
“Rick!” I said, startled. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten into town!”
“Just arrived this evening,” he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Wonderful to see you again, Anne.”
“I recognized him from his author photo!” Larry was saying. “President Martinez—this is Rick Chasen. He’s our new writer-in-residence. It’s quite the coup for us.”
“Nice to meet you,” Adam said, reaching out to shake Rick’s hand.
“We’ve met before,” Rick said pointedly. “At Houston.”
“That’s right,” Adam said.
“Rick just won the Booker Prize,” I said. “He gave a lecture at the Huntington the other day. It was absolutely packed.”
“Congratulations,” Adam said, but his voice was muted. He glanced across the courtyard, where Tiffany was waving her arms. “I’m sorry—it looks like I’m being summoned. Please excuse me.”
As he walked away, Larry leaned over to Rick. “So you knew President Martinez at Houston? When he was provost?”
“Yes, we knew each other,” Rick said, choosing his words carefully. “Or rather, we knew of each other. He’s a complicated fellow.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. He sounded like he knew something about Adam but didn’t want to say.
“You know how it is. He’s an administrator—rather humorless and rigid. The faculty didn’t get on with him. I was one of the leaders of the union, and I can tell you, we did not see eye to eye. He was a bureaucrat. Wanted to limit academic freedom, plus cut our benefits.”
“Reeeeaallllllly,” Larry said. “Very interesting. I have to admit I’m a little surprised. From what I’ve seen so far, he seems like a real intellectual. We just got a look at his library, and let me tell you, it’s to die for.”
“Don’t let that fool you,” Rick laughed. “Just because someone owns a lot of books doesn’t mean they actually care about reading and writing. Sometimes they just want people to think they care. He’s all about the bottom line. He doesn’t care about ‘humanistic values’ or whatever he says. Believe me—he wants to corporatize the university, make it more profitable and less accessible.”
“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “I knew him back in college, and he definitely cared a lot about books back then. In fact, he even wanted to be a teacher at one point.”
“No kidding!” Rick said, his eyes widening. “You knew him?”
“Sort of,” I said, feeling sheepish. “Actually, we dated for a little while.”
“You did?” Larry exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“It was so long ago,” I said, shrugging. “We’d totally lost touch since. It really wasn’t a big deal. I mean, he didn’t even recognize me when he first saw me.”
“Did he always have that hard-to-read demeanor?” Rick asked, winking at me. “You know, where you can’t tell if he likes you or really hates your guts?”
I found myself laughing out loud. “I guess he’s always been a little hard to read,” I admitted.
There was a murmur behind us, and the three of us turned. The head of the board of trustees was standing at a podium, raising a glass to toast Adam, who was standing quietly beside him. A professional photographer stood to one side, snapping a barrage of pictures.
As the trustee gave his toast, I saw Adam’s eyes drift over the crowd. I saw his gaze stop short when he saw Rick still standing with Larry and me. Something passed between the two of them—a kind of cold détente. I knew Adam well enough to know the look. He didn’t like Rick.
“See?” Rick leaned over and whispered to me. “He thinks I’m an asshole. I’m not scared of him, though. Someone needs to stand up to the Man.”
I nodded. What did I really know about Adam now? He had an important job title, a big house, and a fancy library. He was kind enough, but it was clear there was no feeling left on his side. From where I stood, I felt like I was staring across a huge abyss. I stepped closer to Rick.
From: Rufus Chang
To: Anne Corey
Subject: book query
Date: September 18
Dear Anne Corey,
HUP is moving away from literary criticism. Good luck in placing your manuscript.
Rufus Chang
*
From: Lauren Corey Winston
To: Anne Corey
Subject: book club info
Date: September 18
Here are the details re: book club. Don’t be late. I told the ladies you’d lecture a little on the novel, give historical context, etc. Keep it short and sweet.
Jack Lindsey might stop by for a little while. It’s ok for Larry to come, but tell him NOT to harass Jack for a selfie.
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: [email protected]
To:
Subject: Book club
Date: September 1
Hi Ladies!
Let’s plan to meet at my place on Sunday, September 23 at 2 p.m. Just a reminder, we’re reading Jane Vampire by Sylvia Celeste. Should be a fun read! Lauren’s also going to see if her sister can join us to talk a little about the novel’s link to Jane Eyre. Thanks, Lauren!
800 Stone Canyon Road
Los Angeles, CA 90077
(Buzz the intercom when you get to our driveway and someone will let you in.)
xo bex
*
From: Tiffany Allen
To: Anne Corey
Subject: Thrive! Fairfax Capital Campaign
Date: September 18
Hi Anne,
Hope you’re as excited about the new school year as I am! We have so many wonderful things planned around the launch of our capital campaign! As you know, Fairfax is trying to raise $500 million over the next few years to help fund scholarships, renovate the library, and replenish our endowment. Our official gala and launch is scheduled for October 28. Save the date!
I was hoping you’d agree to be one of the faculty captains in our capital campaign. You’d be tasked with reaching out to alums who majored in the humanities, many of whom have gone on to great success in film, television, technology, and finance. I know you’re busy, but this would be a wonderful service to the school and would, I’m sure, look absolutely terrific in your tenure file. I’ve already spoken to your chair, and he wholeheartedly agrees that you’d be perfect for this job!
Our first training session is on October 5. I know I can count on you being there!
Go Wolverines!!!!!!!
Tiff
*
From: Lawrence Ettinger
To: Anne Corey
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
AHAH SUCKA!!!!!!!
Go Wolverines!!!!!!!
Larry
On Sept. 18, Anne Corey
WTF
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Tiffany Allen
To: Anne Corey
Subject: Thrive! Fairfax Capital Campaign
Date: September 18
(. . .)
*
From: Jerome Corey
To: Anne Corey
Subject: TESTING TESTING THIS IS YOUR FATHER PLEASE REPLY
Date: September 19
ARE YOU GETTING THIS? PLEASE REPLY SO I KNOW IT’S WORKING
THIS PLACE HAS ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE FOOD
I’M BORED AND THE PEOPLE HERE ARE DINGBATS. ALSO I CAN’T GET ANY SLEEP AS THE BED HERE IS VERY UNCOMFORTABLE
PLEASE BRING TUMS THE NEXT TIME YOU VISIT
*
From: [email protected]
To: Anne Corey
Subject: [automatic reply]
Date: September 20
We do not accept unsolicited submissions.
Please do not reply to this message. This e-mail was sent from a notification-only address that cannot accept incoming mail.
chapter six
“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU KNOW Jack Lindsey,” Larry said, clapping his hands excitedly. We were on our way to Lauren’s book club, and I was trying hard not to miss the Sunset exit off the 405. “I used to watch him on Days of Our Lives religiously. Such a hottie.”
“Yeah, well, I doubt he remembers me,” I said. “We only took a couple classes together. I’m warning you, though—he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.”
By the Book Page 5