Death by Dissertation

by Dean James

  Maggie’s birthday was coming up, though, and I decided I could find her an appropriate card here, one with a scantily clad hunk and a suggestive message inside. Naturally I had to look at all the possible choices before I found just the right one.

  At the checkout counter, I smiled pleasantly at the clerk as I paid for the card. Just behind him sprawled the counter where you could order various caffeinated beverages and good, fattening things to eat. Dan Erickson stood there, his back to me, fastening an apron around himself.

  I absentmindedly accepted my change from the clerk while I watched Dan, who was engrossed in taking an order from a couple of older men. They cast appreciative glances at his blond good looks.

  When did Dan start working here? I wondered. The pooh-bahs in the history department frowned upon part-time jobs because graduate students were supposed to concentrate on their intellectual work, not physical labor. Things like food and rent had to be paid, though, and Dan wasn’t the first grad student to need a job while finishing a degree.

  More to the point, however, why was he working in a gay and lesbian bookstore? He was, as far as I knew, straight, and this seemed like an unusual environment for a straight man to choose for employment.

  I wandered around to the other counter and got in line behind the two flirtatious customers. I stood with my head slightly turned, and Dan focused his attention on the men in front of me. He still hadn’t spotted me. Their supply of banter exhausted, the guys took their coffee and cake and retreated to a nearby table.

  I stepped up to the counter. “Hi, Dan.”

  His eyes widened when he saw his waiting customer.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I said. “Are you joining my team?”

  “Andy!” he said, staring at me. He expelled a breath. “I guess I should have figured on running into you here sooner or later.” He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. “Look, can I talk to you for a minute? If you want something, let me treat, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, curious about what Dan wanted to confide. Besides, I could stand a bribe. I ordered a latte and a piece of cheesecake, one of my weaknesses.

  “I’ll join you in a minute,” he said, and I found a table in the corner.

  While I nibbled on my cheesecake and sipped my latte, Dan helped a couple of women who had wandered up to the counter. Once he had filled their order, he conferred briefly with a manager-looking guy in a bright purple shirt, which showed off a highly buffed physique. Dan gestured in my direction, and I affected not to notice while the manager stared at me. He nodded, and Dan patted him on the arm. I wouldn’t have minded trading places with Dan right about then. Maybe he would introduce me. I smiled at the thought.

  Dan pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. “I don’t have long,” he said, “but I thought I ought to explain what I’m doing here.”

  I wiped my mouth with my napkin and sat back in my chair, watching his earnest face. Why the sudden need to unburden himself to me? I wondered.

  This happened to me all the time on airplanes. I invariably had a seatmate who decided, for whatever reason, that I was Ann Landers or Dear Abby incarnate, and I ended up hearing all about the lives of people I’d never met before and, frankly, never wanted to see again. I guess I looked too much like a big, cuddly teddy bear (or so I’d been told). Maybe it I shaved half my head, got my nose pierced, and dyed my beard blue, people would leave me alone.

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.” I nobly tried to ignore my rampant curiosity. “Though I do appreciate the snack.”

  Dan waved that away, and I settled in to listen. “I know you must think it weird,” he laughed self-consciously, “to find me working in a gay bookstore.”

  “Just because you work here doesn’t necessarily mean you’re gay,” I answered.

  “Exactly!” He smiled in relief. “I mean, they prefer to have gay staff here, and I don’t guess it hurts to let them think I am, right?”

  I set my cup of latte down with a bit of a thump. “Look, how you represent yourself to these people doesn’t concern me in the slightest. That’s between you and your conscience.” I did find the notion irritating, but he could be inside the closet, behind the wallpaper, and just couldn’t admit to himself why he really wanted to work here.

  “I know, I know,” Dan said hurriedly. “It’s just that I needed the job, and this seemed like a good place.” He hunched his shoulders and leaned closer. “I mean, it’s not like any of the history department faculty will wander in anytime soon, right?”

  “Probably not, unless some of them are hiding something,” I said pointedly, though Dan seemed not to catch my meaning. “Are you worried they’ll give you a hard time over having a job?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “They know that I’m teaching part-time at H.C.C.”— Houston Community College—“but that’s acceptable, since it means I’m getting teaching experience. But I’ve only got a couple of classes this semester, and I needed some extra money.”

  “Dan, you can work as many jobs as you like, and I couldn’t care less.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. “It’s just that my younger brother is in college now,” he continued, “and money is tight back home. I’m the eldest, and my mother needs all the help she can get.”

  I remembered hearing that his father had skipped out when he was pretty young. Dan grew up in a rough neighborhood in Boston, and he worked hard to get to graduate school. I could sympathize, since I’d paid my own way to the luxurious life of advanced education.

  “Dan, I don’t think anyone in the department would begrudge you anything; we don’t all have trust funds and rich parents to fall back on.”

  He grinned. “You got that right!”

  I sighed inwardly. He was quite attractive. Maybe he needed some help getting out from behind the wallpaper?

  “We can’t all be Charlie Harper,” I said, and Dan’s face immediately clouded.

  “No,” he said shortly. “And I wouldn’t want to be, even for all that money.”

  “By the way,” I said, changing the subject, “that sure was an... urn, unusual paper you presented this afternoon.”

  He grimaced. “Julian insisted. I’m incredibly busy getting ready for my dissertation, not to mention my interview with Harvard.”

  I nodded. We all knew that Dan was up for a postdoctoral fellowship. He managed to work it into the conversation whenever possible. “How’s that going?” I asked, willing to be polite as I remembered why Dan wasn’t as attractive as I had been thinking. “Isn’t that coming up soon?”

  “Yeah, I have about two more weeks, and then I'm off to Harvard.”

  “Any idea what the competition’s like?” I asked, before he could launch into all the details I’d heard several times before. “Do you know who the other candidates are? Frankly, I’m surprised that Selena Bradbury hasn’t applied.”

  He frowned. “I’m pretty sure she applied, but I don’t know if she’s made the short list. I haven’t heard who else has been selected for an interview, though Julian did hint to me that I might find myself competing with at least one more of his students. I guess he was talking about Selena.”

  “Could be,” I agreed. If the contest was between Dan and the Ice Queen, he probably had an edge because of his gender, but Selena was pretty formidable academically, and she might be just what the guys at Harvard wanted. “Good luck, Dan.”

  “Thanks, Andy,” he said, standing up. “Thanks for letting me explain,” he added. “I guess I’d better get back to work.”

  “Well, don’t overdo it,” I cautioned. I couldn’t help myself sometimes. There may have been more to this Ann Landers thing than I was willing to admit.

  He grinned again. “Are you done? If so, I’ll clear this off.”

  “Sure.” I nodded. “I’ve got to get home anyway.” I picked up the bag containing Maggie’s birthday card.

  “See you later,” Dan said, walking away with his hands full.

  I knew I could
n’t make it home without going to the bathroom, so I visited their facilities before I left. As I was coming out of the hallway, I looked across to see a familiar face coming through the front door. I stopped, frozen where I stood, peering out from behind the doorway.

  What was Rob Hayward doing in a gay bookstore?

  Chapter Three

  Only a graduate student would consider a lecture relaxing. But after my deli-sandwich dinner, that’s exactly how I entertained myself. I drove back to campus just for the pleasure of listening to one of my favorite professors speak on her specialty, women in Victorian England. Dr. Elspeth Farrar, despite some eccentric notions, was one of the university’s most distinguished history professors. I had taken two of her courses the previous year, enjoying her fascinating lectures. I’d heard much of that night’s topic in greater detail in one of her classes, though I had to admire the way she tailored the material to entertain and instruct an audience that consisted of a wide variety of people—students, professors, and interested public.

  After she concluded her talk, Dr. Farrar answered questions from those in attendance. Idly I gazed over the crowded lecture hall, recognizing a number of familiar faces. About four rows ahead of me and to my left, I saw the history department’s senior secretary.

  I doubted that Azalea Westover had a sincere interest in Victorian women. For a modern, single, working woman, Azalea had some old-fashioned notions about women’s roles in life. Then again, maybe she did have an interest in the Victorian age. Whatever her own interests, she was smart enough to play the academic political game like an Olympic medalist. The next day, I was certain, the history department chairman, Putney Puterbaugh, would hear some bright remark on the night’s lecture to let him know Azalea had been her usual supportive self.

  As I watched, Azalea dipped her head sideways to whisper a remark to her companion. I caught a glimpse of the companion’s profile as she turned to respond. The profile revealed strong, attractive features in a face that was familiar. She had attended our seminar that afternoon, and she was a graduate student, too, I finally remembered. I had seen her only a couple of times before on campus. What was her name? Margaret Wilford—the name finally came to me. I had heard someone refer to her rather cattily as a drone, because she had a reputation for being a very hard worker. Despite this, the professors sometimes complained about students like her, because she had the audacity to work for a living while completing her dissertation. Like Dan Erickson, in a way. Imagine the concept—life in the real world and a dissertation, too. I shuddered.

  On the other side of Margaret sat her companion of the afternoon seminar. Unlike Margaret, Selena Bradbury remained in the academic world and lived on a stipend supplemented by teaching freshman history for the university. I had never suspected that she was a crony of Azalea’s, but she, Margaret, and Azalea were all whispering merrily while Dr. Farrar answered questions. It was probably good that the Ice Queen had friends, but, judging by Azalea’s presence, I couldn’t say much for Selena’s selection. The three blonde heads together, the color of their hair nearly identical, made an unusual sight.

  My eyes continued roving. A row behind the three women, on the left, Rob Hayward and Charlie Harper were whispering back and forth, while Maggie McLendon kept poking Charlie in the side in a futile attempt to get him to hush. While I watched, trying not to laugh—because hushing Charlie at full steam could be just about impossible—Maggie gave up the attempt, snatched up her backpack, and stalked out of the lecture hall. Charlie and Rob didn’t even see her leave, they were so involved in their discussion.

  As members of the audience continued to ask questions, none of them terribly interesting, I decided to follow Maggie’s example. I wanted to retrieve a couple of books from my carrel before I headed home for the night. I caught up with her in front of the library.

  “Oh, hi, Andy,” she said, relief in her tone. She preceded me inside. “I was afraid for a minute that it was Charlie, and I’ve had enough of him for a while.”

  “What is it this time?” I inquired with sympathy, as we rode the ancient elevator up to the fourth floor. She had definitely thawed since the afternoon, and I decided not to bring it up, unless she did.

  She groaned. “You know Charlie. He kept making snide remarks all the way through Dr. Farrar’s lecture. Rob and I tried to make him shut up, but I left my spare roll of duct tape at home.”

  “I doubt even duct tape would work on Charlie’s mouth,” I observed as we threaded our way through the dimly lit stacks toward our carrels in the back of the building. “The vitriol from his tongue would corrode just about anything.”

  Maggie tilted her head up at me and laughed. “That’s why I like you, Andy,” she said, and I had to smile in return. Her face, normally so serious, lit up when she smiled, and she was a lovely young woman. “No matter what he does or says, Charlie doesn’t seem to have much effect on you. I wish I could ignore him the way you do.”

  I shrugged as we rounded a corner and came to our carrels. “Disinterest is the only real proof against Charlie’s barbs. Nothing irritates him more than my treating him like he’s the most boring person I’ve ever met.” I grinned. “That’s the only way I’ve gotten through the past year and two months as his neighbor.”

  “At least you’re not his roommate,” she pointed out. “Just imagine if you were in Rob’s place.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, the two of them deserve each other.” I slammed my backpack down on the desk.

  Astonished, she peered at me around the corner of her carrel. “Andy, what on earth is the matter with you?”

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

  Her lovely face framed by her long auburn hair, Maggie looked at me for a moment. She moved out of her carrel and stood next to mine, watching me the whole time. I grinned at her sheepishly.

  “Andy, I’ve known you for over a year now, and we’re pretty close, or at least I thought we were. But since this semester started, I’ve been wondering. You’ve been in a pissy mood for over a month.” She frowned at me, like someone scolding an unruly child. “What is it with you and Rob? I mean, what was it with that scene this afternoon? You’re like a sore-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs anytime he opens his mouth. If you don’t want to tell me about it, I can understand, but surely you realize that your feelings are pretty obvious. And not just to me, either.”

  Suddenly enervated, I sat down at my desk. My animosity toward Rob could cause me problems if I wasn’t more careful. I had to get over this. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then looked up.

  “You’re right, Maggie. I’ve probably been making a fool of myself, and I can’t afford to do that.”

  “I don’t think any of the professors have paid much attention, Andy, if that’s any comfort.” She grinned at me, suddenly relenting. “Most of them seem oblivious to us most of the time. But the other grad students have probably noticed. It’s a fairly small group, and the gossip will be going strong before too long. As it is, some are already uncomfortable with your openness about your sexuality.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  “Don’t let those idiots get to you! There are all sorts of petty jealousies and competitions here. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories my father has told me about his students over the years.” Maggie’s father was head of the English department at the university. “The point is, don’t create trouble for yourself.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and I meant it.

  I had sensed, the first time I met her, that having her friendship could be important to me. I needed a friend like her. She seemed ready to march into battle on my behalf. Though she was obviously curious, she wasn’t going to force me into any confidences I wasn’t ready to make.

  “I’ve known Rob since we were children,” I said, “and there are some... past incidents between us that I’d just as soon forget.” I grinned. “Though, obviously, I’m not doing too well at it.”

  “What
ever happened between you in the past,” Maggie said, watching my face closely, “you need to put behind you and concentrate on the present. Graduate school is hard enough without adding emotional trauma.”

  “Very good advice, Miss Landers.”

  “Don’t laugh at me!” She frowned, a bit irritated. “I hate it when you get flippant for no good reason.”

  “I know, and I apologize. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” I was tempted to confide in her about seeing Rob in the bookstore that afternoon. He hadn’t seen me, since I had waited until he was out of sight before scooting out as fast as I could. “One of these days, after a couple of margaritas, I’ll tell you the whole sordid story.”

  “It’s a date.” She flashed me a grin and went back to her carrel.

  I pulled a couple of books I needed from the shelves of my carrel, and Maggie retrieved what she needed from hers.

  “Shall I walk you out to the parking lot?” I asked. “I just have to check these out”—I brandished my books—“and I’ll be ready.”

  “Before that, though,” she said, “do you have time for us to run upstairs? I want to check my mailbox in the lounge. I forgot to check it this afternoon after the seminar.”

  “Sure.” I followed her up a nearby staircase.

  We stepped out into the dimly illuminated hallway on the fifth floor, home to the history department and the history graduate students’ lounge. The nearest ceiling fixture was several feet away, and the doorway to the lounge was shaded in darkness. A brightly colored poster from a previous year’s exhibit at the Houston Museum of Fine Arts covered the glass portion of the door, now closed. A thin line of light shone from beneath the door. I twisted the knob and walked in, Maggie close behind me.

  “... really threatened you if you didn’t stop?” someone was saying. That someone was Rob, and he was speaking to Charlie. From the scowl Charlie tossed in our direction, I supposed Maggie and I had interrupted a private discussion. Charlie’s tanned face had flushed dark red, whether with annoyance at our intrusion or with anger over something else, I had no idea.