Page 7
Marcella hops down and gathers her shoulder bag. Pony hide on the flats, stitched evil eyes on the sides, red leather interior to match the soles of her—her Louboutins. How is she affording all that on an assistant professor’s salary?
“No, no, please. I was only coming to introduce myself,” she purrs. “I should meet the movers.” She makes eye contact with me. “So lovely to meet you, Lacie. I’m excited to get to know you.”
She closes the door behind her swaying hips.
Dean Shea sits back in his chair, braiding his fingers. “She’s quite something, isn’t she?”
“I’m sure she is a valuable instructor.” I sit down in a chair—not the desk, indeed. “I’m grateful you’re able to see me.” My concerns rush back in: the dropout rate, the amount of work I have, and now, Laurel. My phone is still silent in my bag.
Dean Shea waves a hand. “No problem. I’m always happy to see one of my prodigies.”
I give him a tight smile. “Thank you.”
“So, what’s happening, Lacie?”
I hesitate. How do I say any of this without sounding insane? “Well … I’ve noticed, and I’m sure you have, too, that there’s been an alarming number of professors leaving Classics.”
“I wouldn’t say alarming, but sure, we’ve had some shuffling.”
I nod. “We have. And the course load and research expectations are … well, they’re overwhelming, if I’m being honest.”
Dean Shea leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk and pressing his fingertips together. “Don’t tell me it’s too much for you.”
“No, no, that’s—that’s not it at all. I just wonder—”
“Because if it’s too much, we can always talk about … reducing your responsibilities. Sure, it would make tenure … more distant. But that’s always an option. I can talk to Dr. Sims for you if you’d like. He can drive the Nordic cadre a little hard sometimes.”
My spine goes icy. “No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m just pointing out we have fewer hands on deck and as a result the workload is more of a weight. That’s all.”
“Well, I just got a transfer professor for you, so that’ll help. A new colleague is always useful.”
Of course, Marcella was an add-in because of our dwindling enrollment. “That’s good,” I say, my voice brittle. “I’m glad. She seems qualified.”
“Endlessly, my dear, endlessly.”
He stands. “Is that all?”
“Well, I—” I scramble to stand, too.
“You see, I have a meeting for the Winter Ball, and I like to be there early.”
“Oh, of course, but—”
“We can discuss enrollment later. Perhaps you have some good marketing ideas, what with the Facetok and the Instabook.” He waves a limp hand at me. “You kids have good ideas.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s exactly—”
“Please do your best to make Marcella comfortable. She’ll be down the hall from you.”
“What?” I’m scattered, grabbing my bag and chasing Dean Shea out of his own office as he locks the door. “She’s on my hall?”
But that hall is full. Or had been.
Laurel.
What the hell is going on here?
“Yes, well, as you know, we have had a few openings.” Dean Shea drops his key into his breast pocket. “Always good to fill the faculty housing on campus. Makes our school feel like more of a community.”
