Deceptions (54 page)

'They confessed. Garth. I had weeping girls in here, outraged parents, remorseful professors... more drama than Shakespeare. The guy who started it - called the president, bellowing about his little girl being corrupted - happens to be a big contributor to the new football stadium. It would be football, wouldn't it? Can't ignore football. So the stink spread, and the president ordered me to clear it up before word got out. Word, of course, got out; the Standard, damn its industrious student hide, got the details into last week's paper before I'd even arranged my Shakespearean session. By the time I did, I was getting telephone calls from, as they say, the media.'

Sitting on the edge of the window seat, arms folded, Garth shook his head. 'Poor Marty. You think you know someone, you think you've built trust, and then, when it's too late, you find there are still gaps. I hardly know Blake; wasn't there another one?'

'Millbum. I'll have his resignation tomorrow. And— you.'

'Oh, for God's sake, Lloyd - an anonymous letter. You know me well enough to know what shit that is—'

'Right. I know you; I know what shit it is. Does the Chicago Tribune know it? Does Time? Does Newsweeic?'

'What the hell—' Garth stopped in disbelief. 'That media?'

'That media. This is juicy stuff, my friend. "What dark doings really go on behind those ivy-covered walls? Tune in

tomorrow, or buy tomorrow's paper or next week's magazine." We set ourselves up for this, you know, acting as if we're above the crowd: scholars, researchers, keepers of the truth. So, of course, the public loves to hear that we're as fucked up as the rest of them, and out of the woodwork come the reporters, to tell them all about it. So even though I'd like to bum anonymous letters, I can't do it. How do I know who else got them? How do I know who's blabbing all kinds of crap to reporters? You're my friend and colleague, and I trust you, but my first responsibility is to the university.'

'Which means an investigation.'

'That's what it means. It's already started. I hired a top-notch firm this morning.'

'And just what are they going to investigate?*

Strauss jumped up and paced the length of his office. 'You, other professors, students. Maybe we have it all, maybe this is only the tip of an iceberg. But when someone makes a specific charge, we have to look into it. They'll find out who wrote the letter, talk to people about your reputation and character...'

'My reputation and character!' Garth swept up his briefcase and strode to the door. 'Listen, you son of a bitch, I don't have to defend my reputation and character to you or anyone else. You know me well enough to handle this yourself without bringing in professional spies. If you don't, you shouldn't be announcing my appointment to the Genetics Institute next week.'

Strauss looked at him in silence. Garth held the door half open. 'You are announcing it next week.'

'It's been postponed. Garth, I've got to cover my ass. And you know it. It's not just money for a goddamn football stadium; it's the whole university. We have to be pure as a virgin when we apply for government research grants or ask donors to fund a new theater, a music building, the library addition, an international studies center ... I have to show that I am doing my damnedest to keep this a safe place for people to send their kids or give money to so their name can be on a building. That's my job. If it means hiring a detective to ask people if Garth Andersen screws between seminars, I'll do it. And, since your job is to teach and do research, and be

the director of a new Genetics Institute, you'll answer every one of their fucking questions. What do you have to hide? You'll be here a lot longer than they will.*

'Has it occurred to you that it might affect my reputation just to have those fucking questions asked at all?*

'It has. I considered it. The university's reputation comes first. Yours will survive. Garth, for Christ's sake, you were a hero in Newsweek not so long ago; that's your reputation. You don't need to be in the same magazine again under a cloud of suspicion.'

Helplessness swept Garth again. First an invisible foe, now a stranger investigating him. He opened the door. 'I can't stop you from playing hide-and-seek with your detective. But you could have asked us first. My wife, who believes in me without the guidance of a top-notch agency, is helping me look for the person responsible—'

'Garth, I'd rather you didn't do anything. We'll take care of it, swiftly and discreetly.*

'That sounds like the motto of your detective friends.'

Strauss looked sheepish. 'I think it is. But they know what they're doing, and they won't Mghten anyone off. You and Stephanie might. Just hold on until we see what they come up with. We're on your side. Garth. We want to clear you.*

'You. can't clear me if I haven't been charged with anything. But that's the difference between us. We're looking for a vicious liar who writes letters; you're looking for proof of my virtue. If we discover that I am of moral and upright character before you do, we'll be sure to let you know.'

'Oh, fuck it, Garth,' Strauss said wearily. 'You know I have complete faith in you.'

'Good. So does my wife. So do my children. Can your Dick Tracy and the media be far behind? But I still think we'll try to see what we can do on our own. I'll talk to you soon, Lloyd; I'm off to buy a magnifying glass.'

Madeline Kane had managed to create disarray in every comer of Collectibles in the two weeks Sabrina had been gone. 'I'm not sure exactly how it happened, Stephanie,' she said on Wednesday morning with a perplexed air. 'I just

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turned around one day and evezything was out of place. Do you think I was tiying to show how much I missed you?'

'I would have believed you if you'd just told me/ Sabrina said dryly. 'Shall we start with the breakfront and move outward from there?'

They worked silently, saving their energy for moving the heavy furniture. 'Coffee,' Madeline gasped finally, and they walked to the back of the shop. 'Has it been a veiy bad time for you?' she asked as they sat at her small desk.

'Yes.'

'Is there anything I can do?'

'You did it. You messed up Collectibles. Physical labor is good therapy for someone in mourning.'

'Tell me when you need it again. I seem to do it with no trouble at all. What will you do about your sister's shop in London?'

'Keep it going, at least for now. There's an assistant manager who's been there for some time and an antique dealer who wants to buy into it. I've told them to open the shop, and I've set a limit on what they can spend at auction.'

'But surely, without supervision—'

'They're both highly professional and competent. And my solicitor keeps an eye on the funds and handles the accounts for my housekeeper as well.'

'But how can he? I mean, I don't mean to pry, but if he has no authority—*

'I've sent him my power of attorney.'

'I see,' Madeline said.

Sabrina stood up. 'Back to work, I think.'

'And your sister's house?' Madeline asked. 'Will your solicitor sell it?'

'No. The housekeeper will maintain it. A friend is living there until she gets her own affairs in order.'

'Ah. It's all yours now - the shop and the house?'

'Yes.'

'Ah. Valuable furnishings and property, I gather.'

'Yes.'

'I don't mean to pry.' '

*Of course you do, Madeline; you want to know everything about my afbirs in London. Why?'

'No reason. I just ... oh, the truth is, it all sounds quite glamorous and - forgive me, Stephanie, but you seem to belong in that kind of life. I've never quite beUeved that you work for me.'

Sabrina looked at her quizzically. 'I haven't done a good job?'

'You know that's not what I mean. \ie you going back?'

'Of course I am.' She chose her words carefully. 'To see my solicitor, and Nicholas, who's running Ambassadors, and my housekeeper.'

Madeline sighed. 'You see, I've come to depend on you. You're very special, and I don't want to lose you. In fact, while you were away, I contracted for five major estate sales, which will probably require an assistant anyway. If you're gone—'

'Right now, I'm going only as far as lunch. Five estate sales? What a businesswoman you are, Madeline! Tell me about them after lunch. Shall we lock the shop or are you staying in?'

'Staying; I brought a sandwich. Will you be long?'

'I don't know. It's a solace session for a friend whose husband just resigned from the university.'

'Talvia or Blake?'

Pulling on her coat, Sabrina sighed. 'Does eveiyone know everything— V

'I read the Siandaid. What a marvelous coat. Real leather?'

'The real thing. I brought it back from London. It was my sister's.' She settled on her shoulder the strap of the matching bag she also had bijought back. 'Do you hear campus rumors, too?'

'No. Am I missing much?'

'Not much. I'm late; I'd better run.'

She was meeting Dolores and Linda at Caf6 Provencal, and she walked there quickly in the brisk wind whipping off the lake. She found them at a table in the back. Linda was wearing dark glasses.

'I've been crying a lot.'

'I don't mind your looks, Linda; I can't talk to dark glasses.'

She took them off and, looking at her swollen eyelids and blotched cheeks, Sabrina ached for her, not so much for her unhappiness as for the cowed look of shame in her eyes. 'It's not your fault,' she said, taking Linda's hand. 'You didn't know anything about it.'

The waitress took their order and Dolores leaned forward. 'Exactly what I told her.'

Linda shook her head. 'He wouldn't have done it if I 'd been nicer to him, if we weren't always fighting, if 1 didn't tell him ... ' Her mouth worked for a moment. 'He doesn't always satisfy me. He says it isn't his fault, that I'm too busy criticizing his performance to relax. And he's probably right, he's always right about everything; but I still blame him and make him feel like he isn't really a man. So I guess he goes to young girls who tell him what he wants to hear.'

'That's absurd,' Sabrina said flatly. 'You can't blame yourself because Marty got taken in by a couple of young girls who set him up and then blackmailed him into giving them passing grades.'

'Who said it was only a couple**'

'Garth.'

'Did he really? Marty refused to tell me. But it doesn't make any difference, does it? Even one means I'm a failure. I've always known I'd be a failure with Marty. I don't have a college degree, you know. I haven't read half the books he has, and I keep wondering if he wouldn't rather have someone who's smarter than me. And I can't talk to him about it, I wish I could, but I keep putting it off and the longer I wait the harder it gets, because 1 don't know where to begin. Marty says if you really want to talk about something you'll do it, not make up excuses. He's always right, so I guess I don't really want to talk. But now he's found college women to make him happy, so I know I'm a failure.'

Sabrina was looking at her intently. 'You're nothing of the kind. Give Marty credit for being a unique individual with his own problems and his own ways of working them out. Are you so powerful you're responsible for everything he does?'

Linda finished her salad, her lips pouting in thought. 'It sounds different when you say it that way.'

Dolores ordered dessert. 'What you need, Linda, is something to do. You'll need an income until Marty finds a job, and it will occupy your mind. You come with me to the next meeting of the garden club; those women know when their husbands need secretaries.'

'I don't want to be a—'

'You don't have so many choices, Linda; you'll do what you have to do. You'll hear about a number of openings at the meeting, and I'll help you put together a r6sum6 - all those secretarial jobs you held in the past - and I can go with you to your interviews, to bolster you up—'

'Dolores, please stop ananging my life!'

Heads swiveled at other tables. Dolores flushed. 'I'm sorry, I thought you needed a friend.'

'I do, I do, I don't mean to sound ungrateful...'

'I'm going to order coffee,' Sabrina said. 'For all of us.*

Dolores straightened in her chair. 'I always go a little too far, don't I? I never know I'm doing it until it's too late.*

'We'll be glad to tell you,' Sabrina offered, easing the tension, and they laughed.

Dolores frowned. 'You've changed, Stephanie. You never used to be the one to take charge.'

'Oh, we're all mixed up by everything that's happened.. .* Sabrina said vaguely. 'Linda,' she added. 'We need an assistant at Collectibles, to help with estate sales. Why don't you try it?'

'I don't even know what an estate sale is.'

'We organize the sale of homes and their furnishings, everything from oil paintings to paring knives. You'd learn how to price items, how to make up a catalogue, how to advertise the sale and then how to run it - which means you have to be there the whole time, hovering over customers who try to sneak off with silver and snuffboxes and anything else portable.'

Linda's eyes brightened. 'It sounds like fun.'

'It is. Exciting, dusty, aggravating, and always different. Interested?'

'If you're offering it just because we're in trouble—'

Tm offering it because less than two hours ago Madeline told me she's got five estate sales lined up, and we can't handle them without an assistant.'

'Somebody without a college degree?'

'Linda, I'm askingyou if you want to try it. I didn't ask you anything else.'

'Yes, yes, yes, it sounds wonderful! Oh, Stephanie, how can I repay you?'

'By becoming better at it than I am. Then, if I ever have to leave, you'll keep it going.'

'Leave? What are you talking about? Are you and Garth moving? You're not going away, Stephanie!'

'No, I didn't mean—' What is the matter with me? 'I meant if I ever get another job. But that's a long way off. Now I've got to get back to work or I won't even have this job.'

'Should I come too?' Linda asked.

'Not today. I'll talk to Madeline and call you later. Dolores, is ten dollars enough for lunch? I really have to run.'