Death by Dissertation (3 page)

He grinned again. “Are you done? If so, I’ll clear this off.”

“Sure.” I nodded. “I’ve got to get home anyway.” I picked up the bag containing Maggie’s birthday card.

“See you later,” Dan said, walking away with his hands full.

I knew I couldn’t make it home without going to the bathroom, so I visited their facilities before I left. As I was coming out of the hallway, I looked across to see a familiar face coming through the front door. I stopped, frozen where I stood, peering out from behind the doorway.

What was Rob Hayward doing in a gay bookstore?

Chapter Three

Only a graduate student would consider a lecture relaxing. But after my deli-sandwich dinner, that’s exactly how I entertained myself. I drove back to campus just for the pleasure of listening to one of my favorite professors speak on her specialty, women in Victorian England. Dr. Elspeth Farrar, despite some eccentric notions, was one of the university’s most distinguished history professors. I had taken two of her courses the previous year, enjoying her fascinating lectures. I’d heard much of that night’s topic in greater detail in one of her classes, though I had to admire the way she tailored the material to entertain and instruct an audience that consisted of a wide variety of people—students, professors, and interested public.

After she concluded her talk, Dr. Farrar answered questions from those in attendance. Idly I gazed over the crowded lecture hall, recognizing a number of familiar faces. About four rows ahead of me and to my left, I saw the history department’s senior secretary.

I doubted that Azalea Westover had a sincere interest in Victorian women. For a modern, single, working woman, Azalea had some old-fashioned notions about women’s roles in life. Then again, maybe she did have an interest in the Victorian age. Whatever her own interests, she was smart enough to play the academic political game like an Olympic medalist. The next day, I was certain, the history department chairman, Putney Puterbaugh, would hear some bright remark on the night’s lecture to let him know Azalea had been her usual supportive self.

As I watched, Azalea dipped her head sideways to whisper a remark to her companion. I caught a glimpse of the companion’s profile as she turned to respond. The profile revealed strong, attractive features in a face that was familiar. She had attended our seminar that afternoon, and she was a graduate student, too, I finally remembered. I had seen her only a couple of times before on campus. What was her name? Margaret Wilford—the name finally came to me. I had heard someone refer to her rather cattily as a drone, because she had a reputation for being a very hard worker. Despite this, the professors sometimes complained about students like her, because she had the audacity to work for a living while completing her dissertation. Like Dan Erickson, in a way. Imagine the concept—life in the real world and a dissertation, too. I shuddered.

On the other side of Margaret sat her companion of the afternoon seminar. Unlike Margaret, Selena Bradbury remained in the academic world and lived on a stipend supplemented by teaching freshman history for the university. I had never suspected that she was a crony of Azalea’s, but she, Margaret, and Azalea were all whispering merrily while Dr. Farrar answered questions. It was probably good that the Ice Queen had friends, but, judging by Azalea’s presence, I couldn’t say much for Selena’s selection. The three blonde heads together, the color of their hair nearly identical, made an unusual sight.

My eyes continued roving. A row behind the three women, on the left, Rob Hayward and Charlie Harper were whispering back and forth, while Maggie McLendon kept poking Charlie in the side in a futile attempt to get him to hush. While I watched, trying not to laugh—because hushing Charlie at full steam could be just about impossible—Maggie gave up the attempt, snatched up her backpack, and stalked out of the lecture hall. Charlie and Rob didn’t even see her leave, they were so involved in their discussion.

As members of the audience continued to ask questions, none of them terribly interesting, I decided to follow Maggie’s example. I wanted to retrieve a couple of books from my carrel before I headed home for the night. I caught up with her in front of the library.

“Oh, hi, Andy,” she said, relief in her tone. She preceded me inside. “I was afraid for a minute that it was Charlie, and I’ve had enough of him for a while.”

“What is it this time?” I inquired with sympathy, as we rode the ancient elevator up to the fourth floor. She had definitely thawed since the afternoon, and I decided not to bring it up, unless she did.

She groaned. “You know Charlie. He kept making snide remarks all the way through Dr. Farrar’s lecture. Rob and I tried to make him shut up, but I left my spare roll of duct tape at home.”

“I doubt even duct tape would work on Charlie’s mouth,” I observed as we threaded our way through the dimly lit stacks toward our carrels in the back of the building. “The vitriol from his tongue would corrode just about anything.”

Maggie tilted her head up at me and laughed. “That’s why I like you, Andy,” she said, and I had to smile in return. Her face, normally so serious, lit up when she smiled, and she was a lovely young woman. “No matter what he does or says, Charlie doesn’t seem to have much effect on you. I wish I could ignore him the way you do.”

I shrugged as we rounded a corner and came to our carrels. “Disinterest is the only real proof against Charlie’s barbs. Nothing irritates him more than my treating him like he’s the most boring person I’ve ever met.” I grinned. “That’s the only way I’ve gotten through the past year and two months as his neighbor.”

“At least you’re not his roommate,” she pointed out. “Just imagine if you were in Rob’s place.”

“As far as I’m concerned, the two of them deserve each other.” I slammed my backpack down on the desk.

Astonished, she peered at me around the corner of her carrel. “Andy, what on earth is the matter with you?”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

Her lovely face framed by her long auburn hair, Maggie looked at me for a moment. She moved out of her carrel and stood next to mine, watching me the whole time. I grinned at her sheepishly.

“Andy, I’ve known you for over a year now, and we’re pretty close, or at least I thought we were. But since this semester started, I’ve been wondering. You’ve been in a pissy mood for over a month.” She frowned at me, like someone scolding an unruly child. “What is it with you and Rob? I mean, what was it with that scene this afternoon? You’re like a sore-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs anytime he opens his mouth. If you don’t want to tell me about it, I can understand, but surely you realize that your feelings are pretty obvious. And not just to me, either.”

Suddenly enervated, I sat down at my desk. My animosity toward Rob could cause me problems if I wasn’t more careful. I had to get over this. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then looked up.

“You’re right, Maggie. I’ve probably been making a fool of myself, and I can’t afford to do that.”

“I don’t think any of the professors have paid much attention, Andy, if that’s any comfort.” She grinned at me, suddenly relenting. “Most of them seem oblivious to us most of the time. But the other grad students have probably noticed. It’s a fairly small group, and the gossip will be going strong before too long. As it is, some are already uncomfortable with your openness about your sexuality.”

“I know that,” I said.

“Don’t let those idiots get to you! There are all sorts of petty jealousies and competitions here. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories my father has told me about his students over the years.” Maggie’s father was head of the English department at the university. “The point is, don’t create trouble for yourself.”

“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it.

I had sensed, the first time I met her, that having her friendship could be important to me. I needed a friend like her. She seemed ready to march into battle on my behalf. Though she was obviously curious, she wasn’t going to force me into any confidences I wasn’t ready to make.

“I’ve known Rob since we were children,” I said, “and there are some... past incidents between us that I’d just as soon forget.” I grinned. “Though, obviously, I’m not doing too well at it.”

“Whatever happened between you in the past,” Maggie said, watching my face closely, “you need to put behind you and concentrate on the present. Graduate school is hard enough without adding emotional trauma.”

“Very good advice, Miss Landers.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” She frowned, a bit irritated. “I hate it when you get flippant for no good reason.”

“I know, and I apologize. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” I was tempted to confide in her about seeing Rob in the bookstore that afternoon. He hadn’t seen me, since I had waited until he was out of sight before scooting out as fast as I could. “One of these days, after a couple of margaritas, I’ll tell you the whole sordid story.”

“It’s a date.” She flashed me a grin and went back to her carrel.

I pulled a couple of books I needed from the shelves of my carrel, and Maggie retrieved what she needed from hers.

“Shall I walk you out to the parking lot?” I asked. “I just have to check these out”—I brandished my books—“and I’ll be ready.”

“Before that, though,” she said, “do you have time for us to run upstairs? I want to check my mailbox in the lounge. I forgot to check it this afternoon after the seminar.”

“Sure.” I followed her up a nearby staircase.

We stepped out into the dimly illuminated hallway on the fifth floor, home to the history department and the history graduate students’ lounge. The nearest ceiling fixture was several feet away, and the doorway to the lounge was shaded in darkness. A brightly colored poster from a previous year’s exhibit at the Houston Museum of Fine Arts covered the glass portion of the door, now closed. A thin line of light shone from beneath the door. I twisted the knob and walked in, Maggie close behind me.

“... really threatened you if you didn’t stop?” someone was saying. That someone was Rob, and he was speaking to Charlie. From the scowl Charlie tossed in our direction, I supposed Maggie and I had interrupted a private discussion. Charlie’s tanned face had flushed dark red, whether with annoyance at our intrusion or with anger over something else, I had no idea.

“Well, if it’s not the gorgeous Miss Maggie McLendon, the feminist hope for medieval history!” Charlie sneered. “And, Mississippi’s answer to Charles Homer Haskins, Andrew Carpenter. Shouldn’t you two be somewhere memorizing Pollock and Maitland?”

At first I thought it was leftover spite that he hadn’t been able to expend on poor Dan that afternoon. But no, I decided, this was his normal, endearing personality.

While Maggie rummaged in her mailbox and did her best to ignore him, I stifled a yawn and replied languidly, “Oh, I expect I’ll have it memorized about the same time you finish plagiarizing Sir Samuel Dill for your dissertation.”

Maggie looked up, grinning, from the mailboxes. I laid my books on a table and poked my hand in my own mail cubbyhole.

Charlie stared back at me, momentarily bereft of speech, a peculiar expression on his face. He looked almost disconcerted. I smiled smugly, congratulating myself.

“Oh, come on, guys,” Rob said. “Not tonight, Mama’s got a headache.”

Looking at the two of them, I wondered—not for the first time—how Rob could stand sharing living space with Charlie. Both came from good ol’ Southern families, like me. In temperament, however, they were very different. Rob, russet haired and green eyed, sported a trendy Van Dyke. Tall and well-built, he had a genial disposition that masked a volatile temper. That had always worried me, because I never knew when he might erupt. When he did, you’d better get out of the way. Charlie, dark and glowering, reminded me of childhood imaginings of a demon, though he, too, had an attractive face. His short, neatly trimmed beard contributed to the slightly demonic appearance that his acerbic nature indicated.

What did Rob see in Charlie that the rest of us couldn’t? How did Rob manage to room with him without smacking him over the head twelve times a day? I hadn’t the foggiest notion.

The Rob I had known had had difficulties dealing with a gay male friend, and I just couldn’t figure out his relationship with Charlie. Maybe after what I had seen that afternoon, they were a lot closer than I had expected. But that would mean Rob wasn’t straight after all, and past experience had taught me otherwise. Or maybe he had gone in the bookstore to buy a present for a gay or lesbian friend. I was thoroughly confused, and I resented Rob for making me feel this way. I avoided looking directly at him, and he ignored me.

Deflated by my comment for only a moment, Charlie turned his attention to Maggie. “Well, what did you think of your favorite loony’s lecture tonight?”

“That’s not fair,” she retorted. “It was an excellent lecture—what I could hear of it over your rude remarks, that is!”

“Well,” Charlie drawled, his South Carolina background more evident in his voice, “she does manage to sound compos mentis in public, I grant you, but any scholar who thinks that Queen Victoria wrote pornography in her spare time just isn’t all there. The sooner she’s retired, the better off this department will be.” I considered intervening, but this was a fossilized bone of contention between Maggie and Charlie. Anyway, Charlie did have truth on his side—up to a point. Dr. Farrar was obsessed by the idea that the epitome of nineteenth-century virtuous repression wrote pornographic novels in secret. The professor even claimed that a duke of her acquaintance had shown her several examples of the queen’s literary ventures. She rather cannily refused ever to say just which duke, however. Charlie smirked while he watched Maggie struggle to reply.

Ready to leave, I tugged on Maggie’s arm, pulling her toward the door. I gave in to impulse as I went out into the hall. “You really have to stop taking those lemon-juice enemas, Charlie. They’ve soured your whole disposition.” Rob’s unrestrained laughter mixed with Maggie’s as she and I headed for the elevator.