Page 11 of Solo

“A reminder that the tenure committee has been considering applications since the beginning of the school year. As you all know, we have one opening this time around. I expect an official decision will be made in the next month or so.”

“As if Drew hasn’t got that all locked up,” snorts my colleague Barry Green.

I shoot him the frostiest glare I can muster, but he’s oblivious, as usual. Several of the adjunct faculty members in the room nod and mutter their agreement with his observation.

Maureen is not amused. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she grits out. “I’ll thank you to keep your comments to yourselves. We have more than one suitable candidate, and it’s up to the committee to determine who gets the slot.” She waits until silence again settles over the room and then she continues. “All right, moving on. If you haven’t been keeping an eye on the weather in the last twenty-four hours, then you should know that what was expected to be just another early-spring snowfall, has turned into something quite a bit more substantial. As of right now, it looks as if it could get bad over the weekend. They’re not calling for the snow to start until sometime Saturday morning, but the university is going to cancel classes on Friday.”

“Snow day!” someone calls out from the other side of the room. Maureen ignores the comment.

“Please make sure your students know to monitor their email for that announcement. I know it’s only Tuesday, and the weather’s beautiful right now, but we all need to take this situation very seriously. If this thing is as bad as they say it’s going to be, we could all be snowed under and stuck at home from Saturday into next week.”

She puts her pen down and folds her hands in front of her on the table. Uh-oh. That’s “Maureen Code” for serious business.

“I met with President Fitch this morning,” she says. “He wanted to give me the heads-up that Senator Tucker Brenner will be on campus next month for a political roundtable discussion. There’s some speculation that he’ll announce his intentions to make a run for the White House at that time. That means we can expect a media presence in and around the music department in the days to come.”

“Why?” asks Barry Green, whose seat is squeezed so close to mine that I can smell his Old Spice. “What do they want here?”

“What do they always want?” I grumble. “They’re looking for a comment from the exalted Miss Brenner.”

Maureen shoots me a nasty look.

“What?” I demand, spreading my palms up toward the ceiling. “Come on, Maureen, you know it’s true. Honestly, I’m counting the days until she graduates and takes her paparazzi with her.”

From the far side of the room, someone shuffles. The tall, pale figure of Russell Atherton emerges out of the crowd of professors standing in the corner, wearing his signature ratty T-shirt with a long-sleeved plaid shirt over it. I didn’t even notice him back there. But then, that’s what he’s good at, isn’t it? Appearing and disappearing like a goddamn ghost.

I’m not the only one surprised to see him as a low murmur makes its way around the small room. Russell hasn’t attended a single faculty meeting in the time I’ve been teaching here. In fact, I’m not sure everyone in this room even knows who he is. Lucky bastards. Maureen twists around in her seat at the head of the table to see what everyone is staring at.

“Russell!” she exclaims, seeming genuinely happy to see him. “I didn’t realize you were here. Come, pull up a chair next to me. There’s no need for you to stand back there.”

But he shakes his head, making his ridiculous white ponytail swing from side to side.

“No thank you, Maureen. I won’t be staying long. I just wanted to be here in case someone needed to represent the interests of my student. And I can see now that someone does.”

“Which student? Kate?” Maureen asks.

“Who else would it be, Maureen? He only has the one student,” I point out and am met with a snarl from Russell.

“Russ…” Maureen cautions him quietly.

It’s a warning he chooses to ignore as he stalks to the table. Two of my colleagues scramble to roll their chairs in opposite directions so they can clear a space for the fists that slam down on the glassy mahogany table. The conference room is still, without so much as a breath or a blink to tip the tension.

“You listen to me and you listen good, Drew. I will not tolerate anymore of your bullshit. I suggest you lay off Kate Brenner, or you’ll have me to deal with. Understand?” he growls.

I wait a beat to see if Maureen will intervene. She doesn’t.

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Russell,” I say coolly. “I will enforce the policies of this university as I see fit. And I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”

All heads swing back toward Russell as if this is a round at Wimbledon.

“Yeah.” He snorts. “Because being a few minutes late for class is such a serious infraction.”

“It is in my classroom,” I inform him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of raising my voice.

“Apparently, seeing as how you threatened to fail her in her last semester of graduate school. I have to say, I read the student handbook cover to cover today and, as far as I could see, the only non-academic infractions that cause immediate failure and dismissal are cheating, criminal activity, and any kind of hate rhetoric.”

Now they’re all back to staring at me. Maureen raises a curious eyebrow.

“Is that true, Drew? Did you tell Kate you’d fail her for being a few minutes late to your class?”