In Her Day (14 page)

“Mr. Dutton there’s a foreign object protruding from your dog’s anus.”

Dutton’s eyes popped then zoomed down to his dog’s behind where sure enough a grimy string dangled. Carole left him doubled over his ageing companion trying to lovingly extract the string. Each time he’d give it a pull the dog would yelp and turn a circle. She laughed all the way down to 57th Street where she caught the bus each morning she taught classes. This is going to be a good day, she thought.

Riley, cheery as usual, jerked and jolted her up to the seventh floor. As the door opened she noticed Fred wasn’t peering from behind his desk. She reached into her mail box, pulled out all the junk mail and her phone messages.
BonBon called. Important
, read the scrawl.
Adele called. Return call immediately. Ilse called. Urgent
.

“Adele, what’s wrong?”

“Have you seen the
Village Rag
?”

“Of course not. I refuse to read that drivel.”

“Well, there’s a vicious article in it signed by Olive Holloway. Most of the article smears Ilse from one side of Manhattan to another.”

“What? Poor Ilse, I’d better call her.”

“Wait, Carole. That’s not all. This Olive creature doesn’t name you by surname but she implies that Ilse is being kept by—and I quote—’A well-heeled art historian by the name of Carole who teaches in one of the city’s more prestigious universities.’ How many women art historians are there at Columbia, C.C.N.Y., and N.Y.U. who are named Carole? If I ever find this child I am going to hit her up side the head. Are you
all right? Do you want me to cancel class and come down there? If there’s going to be a fight over your job I want to be there.”

“No, Adele, no. Fowler wouldn’t dare. I have tenure and I’d like to see him invoke a morals clause on me. I never gave Ilse anything other than dinner and cab fare. Christ, what kind of nut is this Olive?” Carole was more shaken than she sounded.

“A pure case of sour grapes, it sounds like. The people who ought to be punished are the
Rag
people for printing anything so irresponsible.”

“Listen, Adele. Let me come on over tonight or maybe Ilse and I will both come over if you think it’s all right with LaVerne. I want to call Ilse right now. She must be frantic.”

“Of course. You’re family, don’t ask permission, honey. And ring me if anything goes wrong, you hear?”

“Thanks, Adele. Dell—I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Carole put down the receiver, collected herself, and dialed Ilse.

“Sweetheart?”

“Oh, Carole, Carole, I’m so sorry. I hope you don’t think this had anything to do with me. I mean I mentioned you once or twice but never to this woman. She picked it up. Oh please, I hope you don’t think this is my fault. I mean, I want you to come out but not like this.”

“Ilse, it’s all right. It’ll take more than a snide implication in pulp to get me in serious trouble here. You’re the one. Adele told me most of the article is a broadside aimed at you.” Carole hoped what she said was true more than she believed it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We called the A.C.L.U. to find out if we have legal recourse. I’m going up there this
afternoon to talk to the women in the women’s rights division. Olive Holloway is going to get smashed.”

“Would you like a bit of advice?”

“Now you sound like my mother.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Mothers have a habit of proving right except you don’t find that out until you’re the age your mother was when she gave you the advice.”

“Okay, you’re probably more rational now than I am anyway.”

“Forget this. Don’t even bother to sue.”

“Give up without a fight, never.”

“Let me finish. The world is full of Olives. You’ll frazzle yourself responding to them. And if you do want to get even with her remember revenge is a dish best served cold. So wait. Maybe by waiting you’ll come to understand she isn’t worth a reaction from you. Besides the ultimate revenge is your own success. Ignore her and set about your own business. That goes for your entire group.”

“Not the group. The least we can do is write a short, noninflammatory letter to the editor. And maybe get a few journalists on our side to call them.”

“Perhaps. That’s something for you and your group to decide but do listen to me about yourself.”

“Yes, ma’m.”

“Adele is concerned for you too. Want to go over there tonight with me and we can have supper together?”

“I’d love to. You know I dig Adele and LaVerne but the group will have to meet tonight to decide what we should do. If I get out before two in the morning I’ll call to see if you’re back home and maybe come on up. Okay?”

“Okay.”

As she hung up the phone she heard the elevator
door slam and Freddie Fowler whistling. He walked down the corridor to her office, stuck his head in, and chirped, “May I come in?”

“Certainly.”

As he took a seat opposite her Carole noticed he had the
Village Rag
tucked under his arm.

“Allow me to close the door, Carole.” His voice dropped.

“Fred, I thought you were more subtle than that.”

Fred’s lips twitched. Carole threw him off balance no matter what he said or did. “Carole, I’ve read the most disturbing article in the
Village Rag
today and I came directly to you. I want you to know you can confide in me with your, ah, problem. After all, we are in the arts and we’re accustomed to this.”

“To what, Fred?”

He hedged. “Have you read the article?” God forbid
the word
should escape his lips.

“Let’s just say it’s been called to my attention.”

“I want you to know that, even if this malicious accusation is true, you and I can work things out. We value you here.”

“Value me? My reputation enhances a lackluster department. Lay it on the line, Chief.”

“Please, there’s no call to get hostile. I recognize you must be under a strain.”

“Why? Have I reached the age where roommates begin to look suspicious?”

“Now, Carole, I have suspected for some time now that you, that you, perhaps had a different lifestyle than most people.”

“Really, I have no idea how most people live. Too broad a subject for me.”

“Come on, we’ve known each other for years. You can tell me your secret. I’ve told you it won’t affect
my regard for you—whether you’re keeping this girl or not.”

“Possession of a secret is no guarantee of its truth,” Carole snapped.

“Well, I didn’t mean to suggest that I doubt your word.”

“Fred, I am not keeping any ‘girl’ as you call her. Try woman next time.”

Confused, Fred blushed. He wasn’t exactly sure why that word was offensive but then he considered himself above such semantic trivia. “I’m terribly sorry. I should have known better.”

“What fascinates me is that you won’t use the word.”

“What word?”

“Lesbian.”

Fred’s whole body twitched this time. “Uh, it’s such an indelicate word. And as you pointed out I have no real reason to even think such a thing. Carole, I’m terribly sorry.”

“You should be. For thinking I’m keeping some woman without any evidence other than a slanderous article in a disreputable weekly.”

“I hope this little misunderstanding won’t affect your regard for me. We’ve always had such a good working relationship.”

“What makes you think I have any regard for you, you pompous ass? You twitter about the department, despotically improving our lot. You sit in your office like a fly rubbing its front feet together every time that elevator door opens and a woman walks out. You’ve tried to hit on me so many times if I had a nickel for each one I’d be rich by now. And furthermore, Fred Fowler, you’re so aggressively banal that any time spent with you is dreary—totally dreary.”

Immobilized by the torrent, Fred perched in his seat afraid to move even his eyeballs.

“Cat got your tongue, Freddie?”

“You, you’re a man-hater. I knew it. I always knew it. No warmth from you. Bitch Dyke.” He foamed at the mouth.

“Darling, I haven’t the energy to hate men. I’m neutral. You’re a minor irritation. Don’t let your foolish ego blow you up to anything more than what you are, a variety of winged irritant, a fly.”

“Castrator.”

“You have to be willing to get close to men in order to castrate them. I can’t be bothered.”

“I could have you fired. Homosexuality has yet to be condoned by this university.”

“Prove it, Fred. Prove I’m a homosexual.”

At this he faltered. “You are.”

“Yes, I am. I love women. I have always loved women and I always will and it has next to nothing to do with weaklings like you.”

“You said it. You said it. Now I’ve got you.”

“Try it. You lose me and you lose the only professor of international rank you’ve got. And what’s more, Fred, what does the name Sheila Dzuby mean to you? Or Nan Schonenfeld? Priss Berenson? Oh, the list could go on for ages. You have an unerring instinct for young women whose grade averages need a transfusion, you fastidious vulture. You’re in no-man’s land. Nan came to me in tears last semester over you. Sheila wanted to report you to the president. You push your luck and see what happens when the sweet young things you’ve seduced step forward and blow the whistle.”

Ashen-faced, Fred rose. His hands trembled and a thin bead of sweat shone on his upper lip. “Why don’t we forget this whole unfortunate incident?”

“Fine with me. But one small thing: if I ever hear of you pressuring a student again I’ll kick you so hard you’ll wear your balls for earrings.”

He gulped and slipped out the door. The confrontation shook her too but she didn’t know it until Fred left the room.

Even though that slimy creep has been put in his place doesn’t mean this thing is over. Who knows how many other people in the department read it? Well, I don’t have to worry about Roger; he and Bob Kenin are gay. That leaves four. I might as well be brave about this and get the whole damn thing over with. She went to the tiny office kitchen, took a coke out of the refrigerator, then walked back and knocked on Marcia Gahagan’s door. Besides Roger and Bob, Marcia was the only other professor in the department she cared about.

“Come on in.”

“Marcia …”

“Sit down, Carole. I heard the whole thing. You forget our offices are next to each other. I’m glad you finally nailed the bastard.”

Tears came into Carole’s eyes. She didn’t want to cry but Marcia’s hearty response was so needed and so unexpected. Marcia got out of her seat and gave Carole a kleenex.

“Thanks. Lord, I surprise myself. If anyone had told me I’d react the way I did to Fred then come in here and cry I’d have told her she was crazy. I don’t know. Something snapped.”

“Carole. For the record, I’ve known you were a lesbian for a long time and that’s your business. There were times when we’d give parties and when I’d ask you I wanted to say, ‘Bring your friend,’ but I didn’t and I’m sorry I didn’t. It’s silly to be awkward
about these things when we’re adults. Please forgive me for not being a friend to you a long time ago.”

“Thank you.” Carole, stunned, reached out to shake her hand and Marcia took it and gave her a good hug.

“Fred won’t dare move. I think you’re safe.”

Carole laughed while wiping her eyes. “I know. I can’t bear the gossip that damn article will stir up so I thought I’d go to the other members of the department who don’t know and just lay the whole thing to rest.”

“Prof. Stowa is so old he’ll think you’re talking about translating Sappho so you can cross him off. I doubt if the others read that paper and if they do they’ll give out some hint and then you can say whatever it is you have to say.”

“Sage counsel. Is that clock on your desk on time?”

“Should be.”

“I’m five minutes late for class. Thank you again, Marcia.”

Carole ran out to the elevator and noticed that Fred had his door closed. The first fruits of victory, she thought.

“That’s amazing,” LaVerne gasped when Carole finished her story.

“I can’t get over Marcia,” Adele chimed in. “Familiarity breeds consent.”

“Are we keeping score tonight?” LaVerne questioned.

“Love is taking the good with the bad.” Carole lifted her palms to heaven.

“And that was a good one. Come on, you two, give me a little credit.”

“The funny thing is I feel as though a weight is lifted off my back. I have to give Ilse credit. She was right about coming out.”

“Ideally, that should be an individual decision. You had a little help,” LaVerne stated.

“You would have had all kinds of help if you’d wanted it. BonBon planned to march down there dressed to hold up traffic as well as a bank and accuse Fred of white slaving,” Adele chuckled.

Lester, on the word white, screamed, “Bwana, White Devil.”

“Telling me. It took me twenty minutes on the phone to calm her today. She turned out to be more upset than I was.”

“It’s too bad Ilse couldn’t be here. We could all celebrate your day together,” LaVerne mentioned.

“We can celebrate on the twenty-ninth when we pick her up from work.”

“Adele, you could give me one little hint.”

“Go on, give her a teaser.”

“Okay. September twenty-ninth is Cervantes’ birthday. He was born in 1547. That’s a big hint. I’m not telling you another thing.”

Huddled on the stoop sat Ilse, knees tucked under her chin.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you. Anyway, it’s such a beautiful night I thought I’d sit out and try to remember what the stars look like.”

“How did the meeting go?”

“Terrific. We decided what had to be done and that was that. Then we got into bigger issues.”

“Well, what did you decide?”

“That’s our secret.”

Opening the door to her apartment freed Louisa May who padded down the steps and then bounded back up again.

“Will you sue?”

“Our lawyer talked to them today and they’re a little uptight. I’m pretty sure they’ll agree to either an apology or an article. But after that business we
got into such exciting stuff. Now that Olive’s gone people are really talking to each other. We started out trying to define the group and then narrowed it down to the fact that maybe we’d better define ourselves first, you know?”