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6
DEXTER
No one is waiting in the outer office. I knock on Dr. Moreau’s office door.
“Come,” she says, and I let myself in. Joey Harker sits up very straight in a wood and leather chair opposite Moreau’s desk. Above Joey’s head is a painting done in deep crimson and white, an abstraction that somehow calls to mind fruit, but menacing fruit. Cherries that will kill you.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Kaplan. You know Miss Harker, of course.” Coming from anyone else, this would sound warm and conversational. From Dr. Moreau it sounds vaguely threatening. Maybe it’s the painting.
“Of course,” I say, smiling at Joey and Dr. Moreau. Neither of them smiles back. Dr. Moreau gestures to the chair next to Joey. I step around her, trying not to look like I’m checking out her legs. I am definitely checking out her legs.
I sit, and before I’ve made contact with the chair, Dr. Moreau says, “Now. Let us not waste time.”
Not much chance of that. I drop into the seat.
Dr. Moreau steeples her fingers, and once again, appears ominous. What is it about this woman? Maybe it’s the position. I was always a little afraid of the chancellor when I was a student here.
I remind myself that I’m an adult.
It doesn’t help much.
“We have, as you know, opened a chair for the arts department. You two are the only candidates who have applied. My instinct is that neither of you has enough experience to take on this responsibility.”
Was that a look? Did Dr. Moreau just give Joey a look? Probably. All Dr. Moreau’s looks are looks. If she’s sending Joey a look, it’s probably because I obviously have more experience than she does.
“The board suggested a co-chair possibility, but I see many potential problems with this. I strongly suggested that only one of you will chair.”
And that means that only one of us will chair. This woman wields power. She gets what she wants.
“In this first semester, we will have an extended trial period during which I will conduct classroom observations and evaluations, as well as three extracurricular activities that you will organize and carry out together. He or she who is chosen as chair must show willingness and ability not only to lead but also to work with his or her colleagues.”
Is it getting sweaty in here, or is it just me?
I glance over at Joey. She’s typing into her phone without breaking eye contact with Dr. Moreau. Impressive. Skills as well as looks. I pull out my Moleskine notebook and fountain pen, the pen my parents bought me when I graduated. I open to a blank page near the middle (they’re all blank pages, but nobody needs to know that) and write “eval, 3 extras, collab.” Hopefully I’ll remember what any of that means when I leave the room.
Moreau continues. “Your first activity will be the Harvest Ball. You’ll oversee the committee of students, the decorations, the music, the chaperoning, and the cleanup. The following three measures will determine the success of this activity: parent involvement, positive press, and a ten percent increase in revenue from last year’s Harvest Ball.”
I have never written so quickly in my life. The math part of my brain wants to ask how much revenue exactly that was, but the fact that she’s not stopped speaking, listing, and demanding makes it clear that I’m meant to take notes now and ask questions later. Or never.
“Second. A gallery show. Painting. Drawing. Sculpture. Tasteful background music. The second Thursday of November.”
She points a perfectly manicured nail across her desk at Joey. Did I imagine that flinch in response?
“Choose a variety to display, but choose the best. I want parents who visit to see their children’s work. I want them impressed.” She did a little head nod as if to show that she agreed with herself.
“Cater. Tiny foods. You will have a small budget, but success from this activity will manifest in arts donations, which will justify the outflow of money toward the chair position.”
No pressure, though. Poor Joey. I try to make eye contact with her, give her a little moral support, but Joey has her eyes locked on Dr. Moreau and thumbs notes into her phone at speeds that defy current known laws of physics.
“Your final assignment is the winter play. Mr. Kaplan, I know you’d proposed staging a recent Broadway production.”
You’d? I don’t like that conditional tense. It makes me itchy.
I’m not leaving it with a “might have” feeling. I’m going to speak up. Stand up for myself for the first time in this meeting. “Right. We’ll be the first in the area to perform it, so we will get a huge audience.” Keeping my voice controlled is easy, but my heartbeat is another story altogether.
Moreau shakes her head. “I’ve looked over your projected expenditures.”
That head shaking continues. I hate that head shaking.
