The Flex of the Thumb (19 page)

“I'm sure it would be real nice to have you, Sister.”

The following day, Sister Cecilia took one small suitcase and her trombone. She moved into the dorm with Vano, Robin, and Arnold. They set up an army cot for her at the north end of the room. She had only a few personal belongings, and Vano was more than happy to share his closet space with her.

The first day after Sister took up residence, Mrs. Kuetemeyer stopped her as she was passing the main desk. “Hold it there just a minute,” said Mrs. Kuetemeyer. “I'd like to know what you have in the case.”

“This is my trombone,” Sister explained. “I play it in a Salvation Army band. I hope I haven't been disturbing you.”

“I've been missing a Commodore personal computer for several weeks now. How do I know the computer is not in that case?”

Sister Cecilia smiled. “This is a trombone case. I doubt if a computer would fit inside it.”

“If you have nothing to hide, I don't suppose you'd mind if I opened it up to take a look?” asked Mrs. Kuetemeyer.

“You're welcome to open the case.”

Mrs. Kuetemeyer opened the case and considered the shiny trombone. She said, “Okay, but how do I know you can play it?”

As soon as Sister played a few bars of
Bringing in the Sheaves,
Mrs. Kuetemeyer admitted she was satisfied. She even apologized.

Apart from this one incident, the pattern of Sister Cecilia's residency could not have been any smoother. She spent most of her time in prayer. She only practiced her trombone at noon, when the likelihood of disturbing people was remote. All the guys in the dorm enjoyed taking showers with her. She did laundry every day for Vano and his roommates, and she kept the room dusted with lemon Pledge.

The very first words out of Mrs. Askew's mouth were, “I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you another reminder about curriculum development. It's truly an urgent situation.”

Reggie Rose was peeved.
Was this any way to greet a president
? “Whatever happened to ‘good morning?'” he asked. “Or possibly, ‘have a nice day?'”

“Good morning and have a nice day. Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, yes, I heard you. There's nothing wrong with my memory.” He headed into his own office where he plopped down behind his desk. Mrs. Askew followed him expectantly. Reggie decided that she was just as gratuitous as she was officious. “Where's the dean?” he asked her. “Where's the academic dean?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

Reggie began to pout. “I suppose this means I'll have to find the astrology teacher on my own.”

“It looks that way,” Mrs. Askew confirmed. She chomped her gum.

“But I'm the one who thought it up in the first place!” exclaimed the president. “What can I delegate?”

Mrs. Askew had no answer. She assumed this was a rhetorical question and anyway, she was using her compact mirror to remove a lipstick stain from one of her front teeth.

“Egad!” Reggie wailed. “My work load is awesome! It is
crushing
!”

“It is lonely at the top,” observed the secretary, just before leaving.

Reggie stood up to pace. First he paced right, then to the left. He couldn't imagine where a person would look to find an astrology teacher. He racked his brain, but all he could think of was Bertie Kerfoot's annoying bridge party from the night before. He experienced a fresh wave of dejection.

Additional pacing and extended brain-wracking got him nowhere. He went to Mrs. Askew's office. “Do you have the morning paper?” he asked.

“Right here. But don't do anything to the crossword.”

Reggie took the newspaper to his desk. He began his search in the classifieds, piecing through the various headings:
Real Estate. Employment. Automotive. Garage Sales
. Then, under the boldface heading
Services Offered
, he happened upon the most intriguing item:

ARCANE EXPRESS—astrology, Scientology, palms,

phrenology, I Ching, Ying and Yang, ping and pong,

cheech and chong, rosicrucian rites, llamaism, crystal balls,

bones. If it's weird, we probably do it. No waiting. Call

today for an appointment
.

Reggie picked up the phone hastily to dial the number.

The man who answered the phone said simply, “Arcane.”

Reggie introduced himself. He said he needed a teacher for an introductory course in astrology. He also said that Entrada was committed to developing an entire curriculum in astrology sometime in the near future.

The man on the other end said, “I can teach the course, Man.”

“Are you sure?” Reggie asked. “I should tell you that it only pays one thousand dollars.”

“A thousand bucks? I'm real sure.”

“What's your name?” asked the president.

“Herne Hill” was the answer.

Did he say Herne Hill
? Reggie asked himself. “Did you say your name was Herne Hill?”

“That's what I said, Man.”

“See here. Can you come to my office sometime next week for an interview?”

“Count on it.”

Relieved and proud, Reggie Rose hung up the phone. Not only was he setting the college back on the path to Godliness, he was also leading the way in curriculum development. Enthusiastically, he pounded his fist on his desk.

Then Mrs. Askew appeared in his doorway. She declared, “A wealthy alum named Wilfong Weingrad just called. He wants to give the college 25 million dollars.”

Before he could respond, Reggie needed to catch his breath. “Did I hear you say 25 million? Is that what you said?”

“That's what I said.”

“This is incredible. 25 million dollars would put us back on a firm financial foundation. I hope you told him we accept?”

“I did, but he's got terms.”

“Terms?”

“Terms.” said Mrs. Askew. “First, the college has to construct a chapel in his honor, in the center of campus. Second, the college has to bring an evangelical preaching crusade to campus.”

Reggie was quick to put his enthusiasm on hold. “You mean like Billy Graham or Oral Roberts?”

“I think that's the general idea.”

“Tell me something,” said Reggie. “What made him decide to give us all this money?”

“He saw one of our chaplain's memos,” she replied. “The one about God floating through the heavens.”

“I see. Mrs. Askew, with these resources, I think Entrada may be on the road to a complete recovery. More than that, I think we may be standing on the threshold of a new age. What do you think?”

“I think you'd better call the bank.”

“Explain yourself.”

“I think you'd better call the bank and make sure he's got the money. I've seen Wilfong Weingrad once or twice. I doubt if his elevator goes all the way to the top.”

It was necessary for Reggie to put his enthusiasm on hold again. He stood up to resume his pacing. “Mrs. Askew, let's get the ball rolling. I'll call the bank. You get the chaplain over here ASAP.”

As soon as Mrs. Askew left the room, Reggie called the bank. He asked a bank officer if Wilfong Weingrad really did have the money. The bank officer reported that Weingrad had 2500 passbook savings accounts in the amount of ten thousand dollars each.

“Why does he do it that way?” Reggie asked. “Why doesn't he have his fortune invested in a portfolio?”

“Have you ever met Weingrad?”

“No,” Reggie admitted.

“Then don't ask,” said the bank officer.

But Reggie had to know, “Why are you giving me all this information about his financial holdings over the phone? Isn't that a violation or something?”

“Yes.” was the reply. “It is a violation. It's just so weird, I can't help telling people about it.”

After Reggie hung up the phone, Chaplain Johansen arrived. The chaplain was carrying his briefcase.

Reggie beckoned the chaplain to a chair and proclaimed, “I have an important mission for you.”

Johansen sat down. “For me? You do?”

“A very wealthy alumnus named Wilfong Weingrad saw your memo about God floating through the heavens,” the president informed him. “He was very taken with it.”

“He was?”

“That's not all. Weingrad has 25 million dollars which he will give to Entrada if he's convinced that this is a place with an appropriate fear of the Lord.”

Chaplain Johansen whistled his appreciation. “That's a lot of money.”

“You ain't just a-woofin'. And believe you me, this college could use the resources. I could show you in the trustees' report, but right now we don't have the time.”

The president's sense of urgency was making Chaplain Johansen nervous. “What is it you would like me to do?”

“I'm appointing you liaison,” Reggie informed him. “I'm sending you out to secure the 25 million.”

“I see,” murmured the chaplain. “No I don't, what does that mean?”

“It means our friend Weingrad has some terms we will have to meet. I'm putting you in charge. First of all, we're going to have to build a chapel in his honor.”

“I see.”

“Second, we are going to have to bring a preaching crusade to campus. One of those evangelists. Who do you think we should pick?”

The chaplain had no ready answer for this. He worried his rosary beads before he said, “I'm afraid I don't know much about evangelistic crusades.”

“You're the chaplain, aren't you? You must have some resources.”

“Well,” said Johansen, “I have a few catalogues here.” He opened his briefcase so he could hand Reggie one of the evangelical catalogues.

Reggie flipped some of the pages rapidly before he frowned. “What's this card for?” he asked.

“That's one of the easy-order coupons. You get a discount if you use it.”

Reggie was a little nonplussed by this approach. “Can you order an evangelist just like you would order a pair of trail boots from L.L. Bean?”

“It would appear that way,” said the chaplain, “But I really don't know very much about these things.”

By this point, Reggie Rose was tired of the whole subject. He did not want to think any more about the Wilfong Weingrad chapel or the evangelists. In fact, he didn't want to think about college business at all. “You pick someone,” he said wearily. “I'm sure you'll do fine.” With that, he dismissed the chaplain.

Johansen went back to his office. He turned catalogue pages from cover to cover, but it was disorienting. He didn't seem able to make a choice. It wasn't anything you could crank out on the mimeo machine. As a last resort, he threw one of the catalogues up in the air, to see how it might land; he seemed to remember choosing scripture lessons by this method. The catalogue fell open to Billy Joe Jim Bob of Tupelo, Mississippi.

Chapter Seven

The night that Vano had his date with Mary Thorne, he decided to drive the Town Car. First, though, he had to remove the many parking tickets from the windshield in order to drive.

At the Kappa sorority, Mary met him on the porch. She approved of the vehicle: “Nice car. Very nice.” She was wearing a sleeveless, lemon colored linen sheath. The dress had a deep, square neckline with a white lace border. Mary was also wearing white button earrings, white bangle bracelets on each arm, and white pumps. Her manicured nails glistened with a frosted polish. Vano Lucas felt that he had never seen a woman so stunning, and in truth, he never had.

“So where are we going?” she asked.

Even though he was in solid, he felt the slightest trace of nerves. He was wearing a black suit, a white dress shirt, and a thin black tie which he had borrowed from Arnold Beeker. He finally said, “I'm very fond of cheeseburgers. How about McDonald's?”

“McDonald's? You've got to be kidding.”

“Maybe we could try Hardee's.”

“You expect me to go for the Big Mac dressed like this?”

“Well, we could go anyplace you like, actually.”

“Jesus Christ, come with me. If I'm going to the arches, I need to change first.”

She took Vano up to her room, where she immediately began removing her clothes. Concurrently, she delivered Vano some new information. “My father is coming down here tomorrow. He wants to be here for parents' weekend.”

“That's real nice, Mary.”

“That's what you think. He's going to take me to some seminar at the Holiday Inn on starting up worm farms. My father is always starting up a new company of some kind. When I graduate, he wants to make me executive vice president in charge of
worm farms
. Can you believe it?”

Mary was now removing her underthings. Vano asked her why.

“There is dress up underwear, and there is dress down underwear. You've probably never thought about that, have you?”

“No, Mary, I never have. I've never thought about worm farms either. I don't know anything about them.”

“Who does? Who cares?” Now completely nude, she asked a third rhetorical question: “With a body like this, do I belong behind a desk running a worm farm?”

Vano stared at the shapes and textures of her exquisite body. It occurred to him that he ought to be experiencing a chain reaction of anatomical changes, but he found that he rested in a solid
hooommm
which was nearly unaffected. He didn't even have a stiff. He changed the subject by saying, “I've been looking into changing my major, like you and I talked about. They're going to have astrology now.”

“Astrology? You mean like horoscopes and that kind of stuff?”

“I'm pretty sure. But I don't think you can sign up for it until next semester or next year.”

“That figures. As soon as it's time for me to graduate, they start having all the good courses.”