Beowulf for Cretins

by Ann McMan

  Grace took a deep breath and held it for a moment. She wasn’t really surprised that Brittney had busted her by pouring her tender heart out to someone who pretended to be interested. But the only way Bryce could’ve known about Abbie’s visit to her house that night was if Lorrie had blabbed about it. But to whom? Lorrie didn’t give two shits about Bryce—so why would she want to do anything to help advance his prospects at St. Allie’s?

  Unless Lorrie was pissed at Grace for rebuffing all her advances.

  And anyone could have seen her leaving the president’s home at dawn that day—just like anyone could have seen Abbie walking through town on her way to Grace’s house the night before.

  CK would call this mess a big old-fashioned goat fuck.

  “Well, Bryce. It doesn’t look like there’s much left for us to discuss.”

  He sat back against his chair. “I agree.”

  Grace looked at the wall clock above her desk. “I suppose we should get going. We don’t want to be late for the inauguration.”

  Bryce stood up. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t accompany you? Under the circumstances, I think it would be in my best interest to go on ahead.”

  Grace laughed.

  Bryce looked confused. “You find that amusing?”

  “No, Bryce. I find it wholly consistent. Forgive my descent into the vernacular, but you’re a spineless worm with the moral compass of a cockroach.”

  Bryce’s face turned beet-red. He all but snarled at her before he yanked open her office door, picked up his garment bag, and hurried down the hallway toward the stairs.

  Fucking chinless maggot.

  Grace sat taking deep breaths to try and steady her heart rate. She gave Bryce a five-minute start before grabbing her things and making her own way across campus to the convocation center.

  She found it oddly appropriate that her farewell performance at St. Allie’s would coincide with Abbie’s debut—and that both would be surrounded by so much pomp and circumstance.

  # # #

  Abbie looked resplendent in a dark purple robe with crimson velvet panels and four crimson bars on each sleeve—the ecclesiastical colors of St. Albans. The lining of her doctoral hood from Princeton was bright orange with a black chevron. The hood seemed to vibrate as she walked down the center aisle to take the stage. Her long hair was pinned up and she wore an eight-sided, black velvet tam with gold bullion trim.

  She took Grace’s breath away. And Grace was certain there were next-to-no people in the crowded hall not sharing that reaction. Abbie was impressive and prodigiously beautiful.

  Most of the ceremony was a blur for Grace. Abbie’s formal installation as the fifteenth president of the college didn’t take more than a few minutes. Once Mitchell Ware administered the oath, hung a huge medallion bearing the college seal around her neck, and handed her the college mace, it was pretty much a wrap. There were cheers, waves of thunderous applause, and even a few catcalls—mostly from the student body.

  Abbie’s speech was short but remarkable for its expressions of humility and insight, and her grasp of the unique place St. Albans held in the life of the church, the community and the honored traditions of academe. She concluded by pledging herself—her industry, her love for scholarship and her lifelong commitment to the enduring ideals of the liberal arts—in service to the mission and continued vitality of St. Albans College.

  “I make this solemn promise to each of you,” she said as her gaze swept the hall, finally coming to rest on Grace. “I will always care more about doing this job, than keeping it.”

  She held her gaze on Grace a moment longer, until the hall erupted in applause and the St. Allie’s orchestra commenced a spirited performance of Purcell’s Trumpet Voluntary.

  The entire assemblage got to its feet and stood while the newly installed President of St. Albans College left the stage and exited the hall between rows of cheering faculty, students, trustees, distinguished alumni and friends.

  The entire community was invited to a reception immediately following the inauguration, so Grace connected with CK and the two of them walked together to the big atrium where the after-party was being held.

  CK looked outstanding in her scarlet gown lined with gray silk. She’d been a Rhodes Scholar—of course—and was the only Oxford University PhD on the St. Allie’s faculty. Her latest ink—a phoenix tattoo on her neck—blended beautifully with her vestments.

  “So, what do you think?” CK asked. “We can either claim a spot in line behind all of the other enterprising suck-ups to wait our turn to shake our new leader’s manicured hand—or we can head straight to the wine bar.”

  “Is this a rhetorical question?” Grace replied.

  CK took hold of Grace’s arm. “Good girl. I knew you weren’t dead yet.”

  They pushed their way through the maze of people. Grace caught a glimpse of Abbie, surrounded by equal numbers of well-wishers and brown-nosers. She knew the odds were slim to none that she’d get an opportunity to say anything privately to her. There were just too many people determined to claim prior privilege. So, she resolved to content herself with stealing glances at her when she thought no one was paying attention. Like right now.

  “Busted.” CK nudged her elbow. “Quit looking at her like she’s a steak and you’re a bottle of A.1. Sauce.”

  “I wasn’t doing that.” Grace gave her a guilty look. “Was I?”

  “Give me a break, Warner. You’re so fucking transparent.”

  “Thanks.”

  They edged forward a few inches in the queue at the wine bar. “Well, if it’s any consolation, she spent a fair amount of time looking at you the same way.”

  Grace shot her an anxious look. “You noticed that, too? I thought it was just wish fulfillment.”

  “Nope. Fortunately, most of the people at this joint are so self-important they probably thought she was speaking directly to them.”

  “This is a mess, CK.”

  “No it isn’t. A mess looks nothing like your predicament.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Okay. Take a look over there at Blowjob, waiting his turn in line. He probably shoved about twenty octogenarians out of the way to gain a better spot. Now—the unlucky person who has to go home at night and crawl into bed with him? That’s someone with a mess on their hands. Your problem? It’s a blip on the radar.”

  “Yeah, well about our friend, BJ.” Grace lowered her voice. “He asked me to meet him at my office this morning before we got over here to line up. He knows about . . . things. And he made it clear that he’s taking it straight to the dean and the department chair.”

  CK scoffed. “Even if that were true, which I doubt, why the hell would he tell you about it?”

  “Beats me. Maybe he couldn’t resist the opportunity to gloat about his good fortune?”

  “He’s an idiot,” CK said with contempt. “Does he sincerely think that being the giddy bearer of catastrophic news will endear him to the hearts of an administration basking in the heady afterglow of a legendary hire? Williams is a fucking rock star and everybody on three continents knows it. Blowjob would have to waltz in there with hi-def video of her in bed with Beelzebub before the board chair would even consider batting a grizzled eyelash.”

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  “I wish you had my fashion sense.” CK laughed. “That yellow fucking robe is a menace. But in the meantime, let’s not ruin a day we should be celebrating.” She snagged two glasses of what masqueraded as red wine. “Here’s to a long and happy life with the woman of your dreams.”

  Grace’s eyes grew wide.

  “Not that one,” CK amended. “The other one, who’s about to make her explosive debut in stunning shades of ochre.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. “I still want to kill you.”

  They clinked glasses.

  Grace stole another glance at Abbie. The initial crush of people around her had thinned out. She was now talking one-on-one with someone.
Grace did a double take when she realized it was Grady.

  She felt a twinge of jealousy. I wonder how in the hell he finagled that?

  “Don’t sulk,” CK chastised her. “Get your ass over there and take advantage of the lull.” She gave Grace a little shove.

  Grace handed CK her wineglass and made her way across the atrium to where Abbie stood.

  Dear god, the woman was spectacular.

  Abbie saw her coming. The smile that illuminated her face was something Grace knew she would never forget.

  “Okay if I crash this party?” she asked Grady when she joined them.

  “Hey, you’ll have to ask the boss,” he said. “If you’re lucky, she’ll even make you stay after school.”

  Grace thought that was an odd observation from him, but she decided to roll with it.

  “Oh, yes please, ma’am,” she said to Abbie. “I’d love to clap your erasers.”

  Grady positively guffawed and Abbie raised an eyebrow.

  “That has to be the most original thing I’ve heard so far today,” she said.

  Grace fixed Abbie with her most apologetic look. “That didn’t really come out the way it should have.”

  “Yeah,” Grady agreed. “Not so much.” He extended a hand to Abbie. “I enjoyed our chat. I’ll be in touch with you later on.”

  Abbie smiled and shook his hand. “We’ll miss you around here, Grady.”

  “I think I’m leaving you in good hands.” Grady looked at Grace. “See you around the chaparral, sister.”

  “Later, Grady.” Grace watched him walk off.

  “I didn’t think I’d get to talk with you today,” Abbie said. “Thank you for coming over.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve pretty much had you staked out since you walked in here.”

  “So,” Abbie began. “About those erasers . . .”

  “Oh, good god—I’m sorry. I don’t know where the hell that came from.”

  “Don’t you? I have a few thoughts.”

  “I just bet you do.” Grace stifled a laugh. “By the way . . . nice bling. It really suits you.”

  Abbie regarded the huge gold medallion around her neck. “You think so?”

  “Absolutely. I think it would be too gaudy for most women to pull off—but on you, it works.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Oh, yeah. I think you should wear it all the time.”

  Abbie raised an eyebrow.

  “Well . . . maybe not all the time,” Grace corrected.

  “I’m glad you like it. I plan to wear it for quite a while.”

  “In for the duration, then?”

  Abbie nodded. “I hope both are.”

  Grace knew she had to talk with Abbie about Bryce—and about the book. But now was not the time and here was certainly not the place.

  “So, when you can work it out, I need to talk with you. I know it may have to wait a bit until things settle down for you.”

  Abbie looked concerned.

  “Don’t worry,” Grace added quickly. “It’s nothing bad.” She hoped Abbie would forgive her for the lie. She didn’t want to do anything to blemish such an important day.

  “I’m going to be tied up for most of today,” Abbie apologized. “But my parents are leaving after dinner.”

  “Maybe you can give me a call later on, if you’re not too done in?”

  “I have a better idea. How about I give you a call when the coast is clear and you can come by the house?” She smiled. “I think you know the way . . .”

  Grace thought it was an insane idea. But on the other hand, what did she have to lose? And she really did need to talk with Abbie—soon.

  “I suppose I can always try the trellis again. I bought a pair of new work gloves at Tractor Supply.”

  “I have a better idea,” Abbie whispered. “How about I leave the patio door unlocked?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Grace could see Lorrie Weisz approaching. Great timing, as always.

  “You’re on,” she said to Abbie.

  Lorrie rolled toward the two of them like a speck of flotsam at high tide.

  “Just look at the two of you,” she gushed. “Abbie in purple, Grace in yellow. All of these brilliant colors. You’re like a couple of kaleidoscopes.”

  “You’re nuts, Lorrie,” Grace said. “We look like a meltdown at a Peeps factory.”

  Abbie stifled a laugh. “I have to agree with Laurel, Grace. Your gold robe makes quite a statement.”

  “Yes,” Grace agreed. “It’s a bold reminder of the thousands of dollars in student loans I still owe Commodore Vanderbilt’s University.”

  “The things we do for love,” Lorrie agreed.

  Grace and Abbie exchanged glances.

  “Apropos of that,” Grace said, “I need to go schmooze the hands that feed me. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, Dr. Williams. It was a moving ceremony.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Warner. I appreciate you coming by to speak with me.”

  “See you around, Lorrie.”

  Grace beat a hasty retreat and headed back toward the bar. She hoped CK was still saving her wine.

  She was halfway there when she heard someone call out her name. It was Luc Abbot.

  “Hello, Grace,” he said cordially. “I was hoping I’d get to see you today.”

  “Dr. Abbot.” She shook his hand. “You must be very proud, sir.”

  “I am,” he said. “We always knew our Élisabeth was meant for grandeur . . . greatness. It is gratifying to see her so happily installed in a place where she can achieve that.”

  “I can imagine it is,” Grace nodded. “She is an exceptional woman.”

  “As her father, I wish most for her to be happy. A career as consuming as this is—how do you say it? Solitaire?”

  “Lonely,” Grace agreed.

  He nodded. “I do not wish that for her. A life of solitude—loneliness. I wish instead for her to find happiness with an equal. A partner she can respect. And love.”

  He was looking at Grace so intently it made her feel exposed—like he could see through the veneer of impartiality she was trying desperately to present.

  She decided to take a chance. “Does Madame Abbot share your concerns?”

  He gave Grace a sad smile. “My wife is a complicated woman with an unforgiving spirit. She loves her daughter—but on her own terms. That has been Élisabeth’s cross to bear—and my own.”

  “I am sorry for that,” Grace said with feeling.

  “I believe you are, Grace.” Abbie’s father held out his hand. When Grace extended hers, he took hold of it and raised it to his lips. “S’aimer l’un l’autre,” he said.

  Then he bowed and walked away.

  Grace made her way across the atrium like she was in a trance. Luc’s words reverberated in her head as if they were bouncing around in an echo chamber. Her French was shitty, but good enough to understand his benediction:

  Love each other.

  # # #

  As soon as she could do so without attracting notice, Grace beat a hasty retreat from the all-star reception and headed for home. She was chagrined when she saw Brittney McDaniel heading straight toward her on the sidewalk that led away from the convocation center. Grace hoped the girl would veer off—as she had been doing lately—but no such luck. Brittney stopped dead in her tracks and waited for Grace to approach.

  “Hey, Dr. Warner,” she said.

  Grace sensed that Brittney was trying to be cordial—also a departure from the recent norm.

  “Hi there, Brittney,” she said. “You on your way to the luncheon with the new president?”

  Brittney nodded. “I wanted to be sure to get there on time—especially after you said getting invited was a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. I’m very proud of you for getting an invitation.”

  Brittney shrugged. “She seems really nice.”

  “She?” Grace asked.

  “President Williams. I met her yesterday at Twiggs.
She came in for lunch with her parents and some other people.”

  “Oh. That’s nice. I’m glad you liked her. She’s going to be very good for St. Allie’s.”

  “I think so, too.” Brittney kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Grace could tell she was uncomfortable. She was nicely dressed today, and she was wearing makeup—both departures for the normally taciturn young woman. “Dr. Warner? I’m really sorry I was unfair to you about Dr. Williams. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. Honest.”

  “What do you mean?” Grace asked—even though she already knew what it meant.

  “When I told Dr. Oliver-James about seeing you with President Williams on the boat. I didn’t mean for that to get you in trouble.”

  “Oh. Why do you think it would get me into trouble, Brittney?”

  She looked down. “He seemed pretty upset about it. He said it needed to be reported to the dean, and he thanked me for telling him. I knew right then I’d made a mistake. I wish I could take it back. Honest.”

  “It’s okay, Brittney. Try not to worry any more about it. I’ll take care of any misunderstanding that might arise. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Brittney did not sound convinced. Grace actually felt sorry for her.

  “You go on and have a great time at the luncheon.” Grace reached out a hand and squeezed Brittney’s shoulder. “Do not worry about me. I am just fine.” Grace smiled at the girl. “I’ll see you in class.”

  She continued walking toward home. She was still wearing her doctoral robe, which billowed around behind her like a parasail. She knew the bright yellow-gold vestment made her look like a crazed clone of Big Bird—but she didn’t really care.

  CK always called her a “dirty bird.” The irony of the nickname always amused Grace—but lately, it seemed to fit how she’d been feeling about her prospects with Abbie.

  Grendel was waiting for her at the gate when she reached her house. Grace marveled at the way the little mutt had already become so integrated into her life. She was like a fixture these days. She kept Grace company at night when she sat in her study or on the back porch grading papers. She hovered around Grace’s feet in the kitchen when she made coffee in the mornings or cooked her dinner at dusk. And she now slept at the foot of Grace’s bed—on her own fleecy blanket, festooned with colorful little paw prints.