Tenure Track (6 page)

She was a bit taken aback when Mark caught her staring at his attire. As his kind eyes met hers from across the room, his face broke into a wide grin. She tried to look away, but he soon sauntered by with an unknown drink in hand. “Hi,” he said, extending his free palm to Mrs. Gould the First as if genuinely glad to meet her. “Mark Straussman, Math Department.” Whether from shyness or fear of talking to a man other than her husband, Mrs. Gould bashfully excused herself to find Henry.

“
So . . . You one of the new profs?” Mark chirped to Jane, rocking back and forth on workman’s boots.

“
Yes,” she responded, trying to look uninterested.

“
New Yorker?” he shouted gleefully upon hearing her accent, as if discovering a long-lost cousin. “Me too! Brooklyn born and bred!” She could have guessed his origins just by the thick accent and loud voice that reflected every negative stereotype the upstate Episcopalian held of Brooklyn Jews.

Despite her own biases, she was not quite sure what to make of the gangly mathematician. Even beneath all that hair, she could tell that Mark was not particularly handsome. He had slightly bucked teeth, severely pockmarked skin, a very bent nose caused by a freak shot putt accident and a thin, wiry frame from years of running. He described how he became obsessed with running as a teenager, when track was an “uncool” sport, and long before jogging became a hot exercise fad. She discovered this information by half-heartedly asking what he was drinking. He told her water, then went on to explain that he didn’t drink alcohol, launching into a detailed description of the strict “runner’s diet” he followed.

“
I tried being a vegetarian for a month, until meat cravings hit so hard I pigged out on a bucket of fried chicken ‘til I puked. Still got the chicken legs, though,” he said, looking down at his skinny lower appendages. “I think it was God’s punishment for breaking kosher.” Jane laughed in a genuine manner, unlike her
faux
guffawing at Henry Gould’s inappropriate comments. Her response only encouraged her companion.

“
Now that running’s popular,” he lamented, “I may have to give it up. It’d ruin my nerd image to do anything hip and trendy.”

Jane snickered again. Mark’s self-deprecating humor was refreshing in a room full of pompous academics trying to impress one another. Wondering if he could take as well as he gave, she asked slyly, “So, are you one of those draft-dodgers who got a Ph.D. just to avoid military service?”

His face morphed into a mischievous bug-eyed grin. “Forward, aren’t ya? Actually, I did alternate service before grad school.” She felt appropriately chided as he explained that he had served in the Peace Corps between college at CUNY and graduate school at Chicago
. Aaah, so maybe there was a connection to the Chicago Seven!

Before she could ask more about his experiences, they were interrupted by a rather short man with blow-dyed, carefully feathered blonde hair, moustache and a hip outfit better suited for a disco floor than a lecture hall. The little man went straight to Jane. “Excuse me, but are you Jane Roardan? Perry Waters. I’m new in the History Department, too” He pumped her hand up and down excitedly, as if meeting a celebrity. “Oh, I love your work!”

Perry’s specialty was Colonial America, but he was quite familiar with the emerging field of Women’s History and had actually read Jane’s book. Fresh out of grad school, the ruddy-faced Midwesterner looked much younger than his 25 years, more like an undergrad than a professor. He seemed very nice, if perhaps a little too star-struck and eager-to-please, a fawning manner developed from a lifetime of pretending to be what others wanted him to be. Several times during their conversation, Perry pointedly mentioned his fiancé, who was finishing nursing school.

As fellow students of the British Empire, Perry and Jane quickly bonded over their shared Anglophilia, enjoying an exchange of Royal Family gossip. “So, do you think Prince Charles is ever going to settle down?” Perry quizzed, before moving on to rumors about History Department faculty. “T.L. Potter, Pulitzer winner of 1958—senile. Tony Bryce, the outgoing Chair—alcoholic.” Nodding towards Henry Gould, now rejoined by his wife, Perry advised in a low voice, “And
never
go into
his
office with the door shut.”

“
Man, I don’t think the Math nerds are nearly as scandalous as you History guys,” Mark commented, feeling a bit left out of their shoptalk.

Having exhausted his trove of information on other professors, Perry gleaned details about his two companions. His guileless lack of inhibition about asking personal questions proved useful, as Mark and Jane probably learned much more about one another than they ever would have if left to their own devices. Perry seemed to have already obtained quite a bit of information about Jane, bragging to Mark about her sharp mind and close ties with Gerda Lerner, about whom he was dying to dish. Perry’s gushing admiration embarrassed Jane a bit, but amused Mark.

Jane had her chance to be riveted when Perry turned his attention to Mark’s past. It seemed the mathematician had missed his true calling, as his life had been inextricably linked to several major historical events. He explained to the two intrigued historians how his mother, a Ukrainian Jew, had survived Stalinist-caused famines only to spend years one step ahead of Nazi death squads, fighting first with the Jewish resistance, then with the Red Army. “Fascinating!” Perry beamed, pressing for more details. Mark’s father was a fifth-generation New Yorker who met his mother in Germany during the waning days of the Allied Liberation. “A war bride! How romantic!” Perry chimed.

Mark talked about his middle-class Brooklyn neighborhood, years of Hebrew school and even his bar mitzvah. Perry guffawed approvingly at the details. “Mazel Tov!” he shouted, raising his glass. “I have no idea what that means, but it’s the only Jewish phrase I know.”

As Mark digressed into mini-Yiddish lessons for Dr. Waters, Jane tried to redirect the conversation back to his story by informing Perry that the Math professor had also been in the Peace Corps. As expected, Perry started quizzing him for anecdotes. Mark declared somewhat melodramatically, “Aah, I went overseas an idealistic Kennedy youth and returned a radical. Well, more like a voyeur of radicals.”

Perry seemed a bit disappointed to discover that Mark had
not
been
among the anti-war protesters beaten by Chicago police on national television. “No, I was proudly cowering at home, writing proofs and shouting ‘Right on, Man!’ into the TV,” Mark claimed with a pumped fist. “But I did know several people who were there. Abbie Hoffman was a jerk, though! Bogarted all the good drugs.”

Before Perry could tuck away this piece of potentially salacious information, Jane burst his bubble by pointing out that Dr. Straussman seemed too much of a health nut to have ever put illegal substances into his body. “Oh, phooey!” the diminutive man expressed. “Well, I bet it’s true of Abbie, anyway.”

Mark leaned in. “Well, I never met him personally, but I know people who did, and they
swear
it’s true.”

“
Good enough!” Perry exclaimed triumphantly. Jane shook her head as the two gentlemen egged each other on.

“
I
was
at Chicago’s first Earth Day celebration!” Mark volleyed. “Does that count as activism?”

“
Aaah, a nature lover!” Perry lobbed.

“
Card-carrying member of the Sierra Club,” Mark admitted satisfactorily.

“
You Communist!” Perry chided. “Oh, we’d better watch our step with this one, Janey or we’ll be marked as Pinkos, too.”

“
Don’t let Mama Straussman hear you say that,” Mark replied, explaining that his naturalized mother was a vehement anti-Communist who thought Nixon’s overtures to the Soviets were worse than his actions in Watergate. Thus the conversation segued into the latest Cold War developments and myriad other topics that seemed to last for hours. On that day, none of the three Baby Boomers would have predicted the Cold War’s peaceful end. Then again, they could not have imagined much that would transpire over the next 32 years, including how intertwined their lives would become.

That simple cocktail conversation planted seeds of a surrogate family. The youthful Perry was like an abandoned puppy begging to be loved. Almost against her will, Jane felt a maternal urge to protect the diminutive man who revealed very little about his own life while quizzing them extensively on theirs. She adopted him on the spot. Not until the birth of the twins did Dr. Waters relinquish his role as first son, finally maturing into more of a quirky uncle.

As for Mark, despite his homely looks, the quick wit and down-to-earth demeanor proved quite charming. Jane concluded that he was not someone she would ever date, but perhaps he could become a good friend. At least he was someone she could talk to whenever she felt homesick for New York, even if he
was
from Brooklyn. He struck her as the type of guy who would probably make a fine husband for some nice Jewish girl, little realizing that
she
would turn out to be that girl.

Standing in the kitchen nursing her chardonnay, Jane sighed as she studied a photograph of the three friends adorning the refrigerator door, a photo taken the day she and Mark announced their engagement. Next to that image was another, taken on the twins’ first day of school: two little five year-olds, arms tightly wound around one another, in their neat little uniforms and matching backpacks.

Thinking about Perry and seeing her daughter, Jane remembered how, in many ways, her friend had once served as the daughter she wished she had had. Their friendship had waned in recent years as Jane and Mark became caught up in the busyness of their biological children’s lives, and many of Perry’s once endearing, childlike traits seemed to age into obnoxiousness. Still . . . there were times when she missed her friend.

On his better days, Perry Waters was more fun than the best girlfriend she had ever had. No one could make her laugh or cry with such ease. She certainly related to him much better than to her own daughter. Jane could never imagine Dana getting up with her at 3 a.m. to watch a live telecast of a British wedding, as Perry did when Prince Charles wed Lady Di in 1981. Dr. Waters still had an impressive collection of Royal Family memorabilia, including a virtual shrine to the late princess. Jane’s daughter never had any such interest in princesses, real or fictional.

But at one time they at least could talk to one another. Dana had never had any communication problems with her parents when that kindergarten photo was taken. In elementary school both children excitedly told their parents every detail about their days, from what books they read to what they ate for lunch. But somewhere around the time she entered adolescence, Dana began to change, becoming quieter and more introspective around her parents. Initially Jane just chalked it up to the vagaries of female puberty, but the changes seemed to become permanent as Dana grew older.

Jane knew that Dana’s reserved nature did not equate to shyness. In fact, she was generally more popular among her peers than Dennis was. It didn’t hurt that she was an attractive star athlete, while her brother often came across as a sarcastic know-it-all. Dennis was the kind of kid that other teens either loved or loathed. He only had two friends other than Dana, but his bond with them was quite strong. Chris and Duncan stroked Dennis’s ego by calling him their “Geek God,” their loyalty to one another exacerbating a common disdain for those of the non-geek world.

In contrast, other students generally seemed to like being in Dana’s company, without feeling threatened by her, but even she would admit that much of this socialization was on a very shallow level. Dana seemed to change best friends every year, like rotating tires. Most of the teenagers that her parents would describe as her friends, she really considered to be mere acquaintances, not anyone she could trust with her deepest thoughts and feelings. As for dating, while Dana was the object of many boys’ desires, she rarely showed much interest in return. She had many male friends and several one-time dates, but other than “going steady” with elementary school crushes, had never had a serious boyfriend. At her age, her parents did not really mind that she preferred playing the field to being obsessed with any one boy.

There were only two people that Dana seemed to trust completely. Like many twins, she and Dennis shared an exceptionally close bond; “wombmates” they called each other. As young children they had communicated in their own strange language, as if keeping secrets from their parents even as toddlers. This closeness had not diminished with age.

While Jane always thought it was wonderful that the twins were so close, she was less sure about other primary relationship in her daughter’s life. Not surprisingly, Dana had formed close ties with many of her coaches over the years. During high school she had grown particularly close to her basketball coach, a strapping man in his early 30s named John Gibson. Jane knew little about Coach Gibson, other than that he was handsome and her daughter always spoke of him with an air of reverence. Mark groused that he felt somewhat pushed aside by Dana’s idolization of her basketball guru.

Initially, Jane had been impressed by Coach Gibson’s effect on her daughter. Under his tutelage Dana seemed to have become much more focused and disciplined, studying harder and pushing herself physically to achieve her athletic goals. But the growing level of this adoration increasingly bothered Jane. Throughout the endless university committee discussions that led to No Fraternization, her mind had been drawn more to Dana than to Jessica Hampton.
Would I even know if my daughter was involved with a teacher?