Chapter Thirty-four: Shenanigans

I sat there, at my desk, staring morosely at the tangerine-colored orchids Jim had given me, and I had an epiphany. Granted, epiphanies are few and far between, but this one seemed genuine in its intensity and clarity. I looked through my rolodex and found Troy's number. Thankfully, he was home and receptive to my idea. He promised to give his comrades a call and let me know what he could deliver. I smiled, leaving the office, as I proceeded to the hospital to spend time with Zelda.

I gave her a sponge bath underneath the watchful eye of the nurse; she smiled a lot and wiggled all four limbs like a regular but very small baby. I diapered her and slipped her into a different onesie – I'll Try to be Nicer if You'll Try to be Smarter – and immediately thought of Blue Eyes. As if anyone else had been on my mind. She guzzled her bottle in amazing time. I held her and rocked her until she went to sleep. I was far too wise to try to sing to her. She was peaceful when I settled her back down and left, although Dr. Chase's appearance stopped me.

"Audra, how are you?" he asked congenially.

"Good, Dr. Chase. I understand you've moved permanently to the NICU. They must be thrilled to have you, especially since you seem to work on Sundays."

He bowed his head nervously. "I'm sure you know House fired me."

I reached out to lay my hand on his forearm. "Dr. Chase, he's never said an unkind or critical word about you, and you were the only one either of us would trust with Zelda. I don't know what happened – he's had an eventful, unsettling winter – but I feel certain nothing was a sincere reflection on your abilities."

He smiled in his charming way. "Thanks for saying that. In the end, he was right, as usual; it was time for me to move on. And Zelda is my poster child for preemies. She's doing just wonderfully." He hesitated and ran his hand through his gorgeous hair, flipping it back off his forehead. "I'm hesitant to tell you this, but I think you should know House comes by to see Zelda almost everyday. He likes to hold her, feed her, and, you won't believe this, but he's even changed her diaper."

"He's changed her diaper? Wow! That's a big thing for him."

"Well, he may have changed the diaper to win a bet. Still, no matter what happens, Audra, he's developed an attachment to your daughter."

I thought of those words as I headed to the convertible. He had "an attachment" to my daughter.

The townhouse was empty of all life forms. I rambled around, finally scrambling a couple of eggs to eat with a glass of very cold chardonnay. I flipped channels on the television for a bit, but there was nothing I felt like watching alone. Eventually, I wandered to my bed, solitary.

The next morning, Jim had the coffee ready as I entered the kitchen. He admired my business suit and whistled, "Whoa, there, Audra. What is going on with you?"

"Relax," I answered as I poured myself some coffee. "I have a meeting with my department head – nothing more. But, where were you were last night?" I asked as I assumed my usual seat.

Jim was trying to physically force bread into the toaster. "I was at House's, watching his saved episodes of Yankee Workshop. Not one of my better evenings."

His mood was not lost on me. "Hey, is something wrong?"

He rubbed his handsome face with his palm. "House is exhausting to have as a friend."

I laughed. "Well, duh!"

Jim smiled. "Listen, my dinner with Allison was just friendly. Nothing personal."

I answered, "I know. Greg told me she had called him, too. Is Blue Eyes giving you a hard time?"

"Yeah, but I have no idea why. I'm thinking he's just irritated he didn't know about it first."

"You know he's a gossip hound. He always wants to be the first to know everything."

Jim finally pulled out the shredded pieces of bread. "Do you want toast?" he asked, exasperatedly.

I giggled. "Actually, no. I'm going to head straight to the university. But, if it would help, I can make you some toast or eggs."

He dropped the bread debris in the garbage disposal. "I think I'll just go to the hospital."

I poured my coffee into a travel mug and patted Jim's arm as I passed by.

"Hey, Audra, good luck with your meeting."

"And good luck today with Blue Eyes," I called in return.

I opened my office suite and grabbed the file containing our response forms before I headed to Joel's office. I was uneasy about the meeting. Joel was free and waiting for me when I arrived.

"Come have a seat, Audra," he invited in his near-manic way. "Before we start our serious conversation, I have something you might want to see."

I stared nervously as he pulled out an edition of Contemporary Literary Criticism. He flapped it at me, across his desk, until I was finally able to grab hold of it. My mouth opened as I realized it was the February issue containing my article. "How?" I asked.

"They like to send university department heads their copies a few days early. Your article is brilliant. Great first article. I gather you're going to do some follow up work on Stoppard?"

I wondered how he knew about my plans to write about Tom Stoppard. "I'm doing an independent study under Dr. Mebane this summer and thought I might include Stoppard in my research, although Dr. Mebane's specialty is really twentieth century American."

"He told me he was planning to branch out – get you to help him research a series of critical essays on Stoppard. Even said he was going to see the new play in New York this weekend for background. Perhaps I misunderstood him – I thought he said you would help with the research, but he would do the actual theorizing and writing. I'm sure I got it wrong."

Damn that weasel. I didn't, for a second, believe he planned to write his own articles on an area out of his field of specialization. "I'm really grateful you've given me the chance to see my article in print. It's exhilarating. Is this the reason you wanted to meet with me?"

"No. I've been talking with our people at Princeton University Press, and we wanted to approach you about compiling your writing modules and lesson plans into a textbook to target e-learning, especially developmental English classes."

"What?" He had caught me totally by surprise.

He chuckled. "I know it will take even more of your time, but you have a huge head start with the materials you used in the class last semester, plus what you're doing with your three classes this semester. Your numbers are off the charts, and the feedback from the students is phenomenal. It only makes sense to capitalize on your success by getting it in book form. You'll be paid, of course, and receive a royalty with every book that's sold."

"Wait," I whispered. "You know about our numbers? The responses?"

He replied, "Of course, Audra. Troy and Cindy print summaries for me every week. Weren't you aware?" He laughed. "No matter – it's all good. They're thrilled and excited and proud to be working on something so successful – that doesn't happen too often in academia."

"What about Dr. Mebane's book?" I stammered.

"David has a book? I assume you mean something other than a collection of essays on Stoppard?" He looked genuinely confused.

"I," I began. I took a deep breath and started over. "Dr. Mebane said he had a manuscript for a textbook he wanted me to review. He said it was geared for teaching comp online. If he had something in the works first . . ."

Joel held up his hand. "Wait. Dr. Mebane has tenure and, as a professor, has many strengths. However, I have had some difficulties with him. He has, in the past, tried to, shall we say, 'borrow' the work of graduate students to use as his own. I suspect that's what is happening with this 'manuscript' of his. He is unaware I was going to approach you about this, but he did know we were wanting to develop a textbook to fit the courses in your program. I suggest you find an excuse not to review his manuscript. The less you have to do with his projects, the better. And don't show your work to him. Just to be safe." He stared at me solemnly. "I also think it would be a good idea if we found another professor to oversee your independent study program, if you agree?"

I nodded.

He grabbed some paper and scribbled some notes. "I'll see who's going to be around this summer and make some inquiries. I'll get back to you."

"Dr. Jacobs," I said with relief, "I don't know how to thank you. I've had an uncomfortable feeling about some of Dr. Mebane's questions, and his interest."

"David hasn't published a literary article in two years, Audra. That's not good for an academician, especially one of his caliber. I know he expressed a good deal of interest in your subject area when he found we had secured your services. Because your field is so very contemporary, there is little already published, which can help you get published; however, to be taken as a legitimate scholar, you have to dig into the research published on other literary works and incorporate them. You have done that brilliantly in this article, and I see no reason you won't be able to continue with the same success. David, I fear, is drawn to you and contemporary British playwrights because he needs to get published and he thinks you can help him accomplish that. Be on your guard, Audra."

"Thank you, Dr. Jacobs."

"So," he said, smiling, "we are agreed the textbook to fit your program is something you want to do and you can do?"

"Yes, of course. Troy and Cindy have both been moaning they don't have enough to do; I'm sure they'll be ready to go right to work," I said with a huge smile on my face.

I, literally, danced, twirling and plie-ing, the entire journey from Joel's office to mine. Cindy and Troy both looked up, startled, when I jumped and kicked my way into the outside office, waving the journal containing my article gaily around their heads.

"Are you okay?" Troy asked while Cindy snatched the journal from my hand.

Cindy squealed. "An early copy. Troy, Ms. Jeffrey's article. She's published."

Troy scrambled to struggle with Cindy over the copy. I intervened, and they both raved over how smart my article looked when actually published.

"I have more good news," I cooed. I tantalized them. I shut the office door, and then I told them of the textbook proposal. Troy agreed to focus on assembling the writing modules while Cindy helped with the organization and monitored the activity online. I told Cindy to order a luncheon feast from her favorite restaurant on my tab. We had to eat at the office, but we deserved to eat well in celebration.

While Cindy was gleefully ordering everything she could think of from my favorite Indian restaurant, I motioned for Troy to come into my private office.

"How'd it go?" I asked him.

"I have a good offer, one you should take if you're serious," he whispered in a conspiratorial tone. He showed me a slip of paper with a name, phone number, and a dollar amount. I nodded and handed him the documents he needed.

"Will you take care of this?" I asked him.

He answered, "Of course. I'll bring the money back. And about the other . . ."

"Any luck?"

"Yes, and you were right. It's going to be pricey." He then pushed over a paper with the information I had asked him to compile.

"When do you think you can have the money?"

"By five if you can hang around that long. I won't be able to take care of the other stuff until tomorrow. Will that work?" he asked with undue consideration.

"Troy, that will be wonderful. Now, take my debit card and go pick up our lunch."

I picked up the phone to call Dr. Castillo while I waited for the food.