“No. I’m sure you worked hard for your success, but you also had the advantage of being a white male.”
“Excuse me?”
I shook my head to clear it and took a moment to collect myself. “Would you give that woman a job if she came up to you?”
“Probably not. We’re a family company.”
“Explain why you said that.”
His brow furrowed. “Like I said, some women are made for fun.”
My fist clenched involuntarily. The idea that people could be treated so casually as objects had always boggled my mind. Who decided who was of value and who was expendable? The hypocrisy caused me to lose track of my point. I could make the connections in my head but, as always, I couldn't find a way to accurately communicate them.
Maybe he sensed my frustration because he changed the subject, “Tell me, what’s the research you want to do. What’s your end game exactly?”
“By proving my theories, I'll have tangible evidence to bring to the state board to show the impact that programs like free public transportation could have on the chances of success in a life. It could change everything. It could change how children are raised, by equalizing the playing field. Or at least getting closer to it. It could improve towns, resulting in a benefit to society as a whole.”
“This sounds like some socialist stuff and I’m not on board with that.”
“It’s not that simple. We aren’t talking about designating the path someone would follow only increasing the opportunities so that people can have the freedom to choose their own path. But I’ll need the time and money to organize statistics and do studies.” I relaxed my hands down at my sides. No praying mantises here.
“I get what you’re saying.” Buffount sat forward with his elbows on his knees and studied my dancer, er, the dancer, still talking with Occum. “So you convince me I’m wrong.” A slow smile spread over the man’s face. “Yeah, I like this. You get that girl there, the one you been drooling over, to convince me that I was wrong about her.”
“What do you mean? How?”
“I don’t know, you’re the genius.” He lightly punched my shoulder. “Find a way to show that she’s where she is based on prejudice or whatever bull you were spitting and I’ll fund your research.”
“You’re serious?” I focused fully on the man now.
He slid a cocktail napkin closer to him and pulled out a silver pen from his pocket. “Why the hell not? I donate to the school every year anyway.” He started to scrawl across the small square. “Maybe I can get a library or something. Show up those bastards at Shaw Dairy. Them and their fancy statue.” He mumbled the last part mostly to himself.
“What are the conditions exactly?” My throat was tight and a weird feeling crept up my spine.
“You transform that girl over there from stripper to someone I’d hire. No better yet, an academic like you. I’m having my big annual Christmas ball down at The Ranch in December. You bring her and if you can pass her off to all my friends that she’s a legitimate professor-type, then I’ll fund your research.”
“But she’s a person.” This couldn’t be real. He spoke as if debating buying a lotto ticket.
“Yeah, so? I’m not asking you to hurt her. If you’re so confident in your ability to transform her life, then you’d see you’re doing her a favor. According to your own words. Change her white-trash talk. Change how she dresses and carries herself. Stuff some knowledge into that pretty little head. You’ll be giving her opportunities she never had. If that’s all it takes to be a success. You do that and convince my friends she’s a woman of high social standing and well-breeding, then I’ll believe what you say is true. Otherwise, I hold fast that if she wanted to, she could change her life but chooses not to.”
“This doesn’t make sense—” I shook my head, getting ready to stand.
“How about a million?”
I blinked rapidly. I swallowed down shock keeping my face as close to neutral as possible. Was this for real? That much money…I could be funded for a few semesters with research assistants. My heart raced at the possibilities and he talked like it was pocket change. This was a woman’s life however, not statistics cooked up in a lab.
“I—I—Straight towards research?”
“Sure.”
“You’d have to go through the university. Make it official, makes sure one hundred percent of funds are allocated toward research and not overhead.” I’d been burned before by not specifying.
“Sure. Whatever. You draft up the contract. Just make sure I get a wing or a classroom or something.”
“I need to think.”
“Seems to me like you need to think a little less and do a little more.”
“Why would she agree to it? I wouldn’t lie to her,” I said.
