Behind the Walls of Ivy

Looking up from the geology exam he was preparing, Shale Stephens glanced out the dirty little window of his office. There they were: the iconic ivy-covered walls that had come to symbolize the apex of academia in America.

"There are people out there who would kill for a job with that view," he thought to himself. "A tenure-track position as an assistant professor at an Ivy League school, good pay, a beautiful setting, surrounded by eager young students and some of the smartest minds in the world: what's not to like?"

"If only they knew," he shook his head wryly as he returned to his work.

Shale had held similar rose-colored views when he'd received his job offer from the university. Now, almost two years later, he was deeply disillusioned. For starters, the pay he'd been offered had looked very attractive until he discovered just how expensive it was to live in an Ivy League city. With the high cost of living combined with the payment schedule for his student loans, Shale had found himself struggling to have any sort of a normal lifestyle.

The only thing that had saved him was that when he'd accepted the job he'd managed to negotiate a position for his wife, Sylvia. She'd gone to work for the Provost's office as a special assistant, and the additional income she brought in had meant the couple could enjoy a few "luxuries" like a two-bedroom apartment closer to the university.

But money wasn't the only source of Shale's discontent. The university evaluated its professors on their teaching, research, and service to the university. For Shale those requirements translated into teaching a full load of courses every semester while also serving as an advisor to a number of students. At the same time he was expected to conduct ground-breaking research, get it published in a prestigious peer-reviewed journal, and, in his spare time, serve on several university committees.

The result of all these requirements was that Shale found himself working over sixty hours a week every month of the school year. The summer "break" offered little respite. With the academic year consumed by teaching, advising and committee work, the summer was the only chance Shale had to do any research and writing.

Once when he'd added up all the hours he worked, Shale was dismayed to discover that he was earning less than $30 an hour. "I'd be better off financially if I'd gone to work straight out of college rather than going to graduate school," he thought ruefully. But he always been fascinated by the origin and development of the planet and he loved the opportunity to share that excitement with others.

He sighed and turned back to the examination in front of him. The year would soon be over and he wanted to have the final exam ready. Of course he knew the subject matter thoroughly but because the department had introduced a new text, Shale had to be sure his final exam covered what was in the text.

That was another of Shale's pet peeves. The textbook the department required was written by Dr. Gray, the chairman of the Geology Department. That was fair enough - the chairman was a recognized authority in the field - but what irked Shale was that Gray put out a new edition every other year. The changes from one edition to the next were minimal but they ensured that students couldn't buy used texts, thus guaranteeing additional royalty income for Professor Gray. They also meant that Shale had to rework his lectures and exams to conform to the new text, adding yet another task to his already long list.

A knock on his office door interrupted Shale's concentration. Surprised, he glanced down at his calendar and saw to his dismay that he had a student conference scheduled. He sighed to himself at the inconvenience and said, "Come in."

The door to his tiny office opened and a pretty blond co-ed poked her head around the corner. "Is this a good time for our meeting, Professor Stephens?" she asked politely in her little-girl's voice. It wasn't a good time as far as Shale was concerned, but being available to meet with students was an important part of his responsibilities, so he kept his irritation to himself and beckoned the young woman to enter.

As she stepped into his office and took a seat on the small sofa, he noticed that she was wearing an ankle-length skirt and a zip-front sweater for the cool weather they were having that spring. As she settled herself, he tried to recall why Taylor Poindexter wanted to meet with him today.

Shale regarded Taylor with mixed emotions. Without question she was an attractive young woman, and he knew that she had to be reasonably intelligent or she would never have been accepted to the university. But as far as his class was concerned, she was a poor student who spent most of her time tweeting or checking her Facebook page. It was small wonder, he thought, that she was failing the class.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Poindexter?" he asked politely, even though he was pretty sure what she wanted. A lot of students chose geology to meet their science requirement because they believed it would be easier than chemistry, biology or physics. Shale had been chagrinned to learn that Introduction to Geology was commonly known as "Rocks for Jocks" among the student body. It was usually only after the students had gotten well into the semester that they learned the truth: the physical history of the planet was a complex and demanding subject.

Sure enough, Taylor quickly launched into a litany of concerns about her grades in his class and self-serving excuses for her performance. Then she got to the heart of the reason for her visit. "Isn't there something I can do to bring my grade up, Professor Stephens?" she asked, batting her eyes at him. "I really can't afford to fail your course."

Shale stifled his impatience and said mildly, "Really, Ms. Poindexter, the best thing you can do is study a little harder for the final. I know geology isn't your passion, but it really deserves more attention than you've given it so far."

"But there's so much to learn, and besides, the final won't help my earlier grades. Isn't there some special project I could take on, maybe something I could do for extra credit?" she asked coyly. Then, to Shale's astonishment, she slowly uncrossed her legs and the full-length wrap skirt she wore fell open to reveal the full expanse of her leg. The black over-the-knee boots that had been hidden by her skirt now lured his eyes all the way up her legs.

As he sat there stunned by her brazenness, she proceeded to rearrange her legs again, in the process revealing that the skimpy panties she wore were bright red. Then she reached up and casually unzipped her sweater low enough to uncover her matching red bra.

"Are you sure there isn't something I could do that would persuade you to give me a better grade in your course, Professor?" she purred at him.

As Shale shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to come up with a response, the door to his office flew open and two young women popped into the doorway. Shale looked up to see his graduate assistant and her roommate smirking at him. "Weren't we supposed to go over the lesson plan now, Professor Stephens?" the blonde asked in a sly tone of voice.

"What? Oh, yes, Annika, you're right, I'd forgotten," Shale stuttered gratefully. Turning back to the coed displayed before him on his couch, he said hastily, "I'm sorry, Ms. Poindexter, but I seem to have a conflict at this time. We'll have to reschedule."

Taylor hastily drew her skirt back together and zipped up her sweater. She stood up abruptly, glaring at the two women standing in the doorway. "That's alright, Professor. But I'd still like to do something for extra credit, so just let me know." Then she barged her way past the other two women, obviously unhappy that her plans had been interrupted.

Once she was gone, Shale heaved a huge sigh of relief. "It's a good thing for me you two showed up when you did. That woman was trying to seduce me into giving her a better grade. I've never had a student try to bribe me with sex before."

Now the two women began to laugh out loud, and Shale stared at them suspiciously. "Alright," he demanded, "what's so funny?"

Annika Mortensen, the blonde of the two and his graduate assistant, gave him a big grin. "OK, we confess. I noticed on your calendar that Taylor had an appointment for today, and I figured that you might need rescuing. She has a reputation for trying to sleep her way through the faculty."

Mosa Pienaar, Annika's roommate, piped up, "Yeah, and the word on campus is that she's had success with several professors already. So we figured you'd need to be rescued!"

"So basically the two of you set me up," Shale said, folding his arms in mock anger. "The least you could have done was to warn me about her in advance."

"What, and miss seeing the embarrassed look on your face?" Mosa asked gleefully. "Not to mention that bulge in your britches," she added with a smirk.

Shale glanced at himself and quickly sat down behind his desk in embarrassment. Trying to cover his discomfort he hurried on, "Well, nevertheless I'm glad you two showed up when you did. It's a scary thing to come face to face with a man-eater!" he said with a grin.

When the laughter died down, his expression grew a little more serious. "Now, unless there really is something we need to go over, will you two get out of here and let me finish going over this material? I have to get done and then get out of here in time to get home and get cleaned up. The Faculty Reception is being held at the President's mansion tonight, and I don't dare be late for that."

With smiles and waves the two women departed, still giggling to each other, and Shale couldn't help grinning as they left. Annika had been assigned to him at the start of the academic year and she'd proven to be a much greater help than he'd expected. She was teaching Shale's introductory geology laboratory while working toward her PhD, and she also helped him with grading papers and advising some of the students. Shale had found her to be bright, talented and personable. And, he had to admit, with her long blonde hair and tall, slim figure, she was extremely easy on the eyes. All in all, Shale concluded, her fiancé back home was a very lucky man.

It was also fascinating to Shale to observe the relationship between Annika and Mosa, her roommate. Due to a shortage of graduate student housing, the two of them had been paired to room together by chance. Besides the fact that both were extremely attractive and intelligent, the two of them had almost nothing in common.

As her platinum blonde hair hinted, Annika was of Swedish extraction and came from Minnesota. By contrast, Mosa, who was working on her Masters of Business Administration, was from South Africa. With her nut-brown skin tone, short-cropped ebony hair and curvier figure, she made a striking contrast to Annika. Yet despite their differences the two had become as close as sisters, and it was so common to see them together that they had become known as "Salt and Pepper" on campus.

Putting thoughts of the two young women aside, Shale returned to the test. "I've got to be on time tonight," he told himself sternly. "Sylvia will chew me out if we're late to the President's reception."

As he was packing up his laptop to head home a half-hour later, a chirp from his phone signaled an incoming text. When he read it, he sighed. It was from Sylvia. "C U at mansion. Provost needs me 2 work. Will get home late. S."

As he drove home, a dark mood began to rise inside him. It had seemed like such a coup for him to negotiate a position for Sylvia when he came to the university. The job for her in the Provost's office would mean extra spending money for a few small luxuries that they wouldn't have been able swing on his salary alone due to his student debt. Furthermore, Shale had thought that it wouldn't hurt for his wife to make contacts so high up in the administration. If the President was the chief executive officer of the university, the Provost was the chief operating officer, a powerful figure with direct oversight of all academic support units, institutional responsibility for the allocation of resources and leadership of the university Budget Committee. His influence might prove helpful when it came time to evaluate Shale for tenure.

But things hadn't worked out the way Shale expected. Not only had his own workload proven much heavier than he expected but after the first year Sylvia's job began to consume more of her time too. Initially the Provost took advantage of her talent as a photographer; later he began utilizing her organizational skills. As a result, this year her work schedule had grown longer and more irregular, and she often handled evening and weekend events. Of late it seemed to Shale that he and Sylvia communicated with each other by text and email more than in person. Not surprisingly, opportunities for sex had become few and fleeting, a loss that Shale felt acutely.

But, if he were truthful with himself, it wasn't just their hectic lives that was bothering Shale. It seemed to him that his wife had grown increasingly cold toward him, especially over the last semester. The easy affection that characterized their first years of marriage had all but disappeared. Now Shale sensed a growing level of dissatisfaction on Sylvia's part for their lifestyle in general and for him in particular. It seemed clear to him that the two of them were growing apart, and lately he'd begun to wonder if someone else might be the catalyst for the changes he was seeing. Such doubts had a corrosive effect on his normally cheerful outlook.

When he got home, the apartment was empty, but when he went back to their bedroom he found a suit, tie and white shirt laid out for him to wear. "I'm not a child," he swore under his breath. "I know what to wear to an event like this." Nevertheless, to forestall an argument he put on the clothes Sylvia had selected and then headed out for the reception.

In order to provide a suitable place to entertain dignitaries and potential donors, the University provided the President with a lavish mansion in the toniest neighborhood in the city. When Shale drove up to the curb in front, an undergraduate acting as a valet rushed to take his keys and park his car. Shale couldn't help noticing the way the young man turned his nose up at Shale's older model sedan.

Shale walked quickly through the mansion, pausing only to grab an hors d'oeuvre and glass of white wine from a server. Then he walked out through the French doors to the huge terrace, which was gaily festooned with paper lanterns. Making his way through the crowd of faculty members and their spouses, he went looking for Sylvia.

When the crowd parted momentarily he caught a glimpse of her across the way, deep in conversation with Eric Solveig, the University Provost. Shale felt acid rise in his stomach when he spotted Solveig's hand on Sylvia's waist. Then Sylvia noticed him and said something to her boss.

When the Provost turned and saw Shale approaching, Solveig hastily stepped back from Sylvia and extended his hand toward Shale, who reluctantly shook it. "So glad you could be here tonight, Shale," the Provost said smoothly. "Sylvia's been telling me lots of good things about you and your research."

Shale glanced over at Sylvia, but she kept her face neutral. He returned his attention to the Provost and thanked him for the implied compliment.

With the formalities completed, the Provost went on easily, "I hope you don't mind if I steal your wife away for a while tonight. She's proven so capable that I don't know what I'd do without her."

With no more apology than that the Provost turned and steered Sylvia away while Shale stood there trying to think of some appropriate response. She looked back over her shoulder and gave Shale that enigmatic look again before resuming her conversation with Solveig.

The brief exchange seemed to crystallize all Shale's resentments and suspicions. Sylvia hadn't said a word to him, had hardly even acknowledged his presence. Instead, Shale thought, she'd focused all her attention on the man who was her boss and who-knows-what-else to her.

He spun around angrily and almost ran head first into the host and hostess for the evening: Magnus Jefferson, the university President, and his wife Margaret.

Jefferson had already made academic history by being, at 43, one of the youngest men ever to serve as president of a major university. He was tall with thick dark hair accented by a bit of gray at the temples that made him look even more distinguished. "If a casting director ever wanted someone to play a university president in a movie, he'd want someone who looked like Magnus Jefferson," Shale thought grudgingly.

The President's wife was what people called "handsome"; Margaret was also the daughter of one of the university's largest donors. The gossip among the faculty was that their marriage had been more like an alliance of royal houses than a boy-meets-girl love story.

For a moment, Shale stood there, embarrassed by his near accident and unable to think what to say. But Jefferson avoided any awkwardness by smoothly grasping Shale's hand. "Dr. Stephens," the President said warmly, "so glad you could come tonight. The chair of the Geology Department has given me glowing reports about your work."

Shale was surprised that the President had recognized him and highly doubtful that the man had gotten any such report on him. The last time Shale had encountered the head of his own department the good chairman had had trouble recalling Shale's name. Nevertheless, Shale modestly expressed his thanks for the President's remarks and then turned politely to his wife. "You and the President are awfully kind to have all of us over, Mrs. Jefferson. The mansion looks lovely tonight."

The First Lady of the university merely nodded graciously, but Jefferson couldn't let silence prevail. "It's the least we can do," the President boomed fulsomely. "As I've said many times, this university is only as strong as the quality of its faculty."

Shale recalled hearing the President use the same phrase in another speech when he was talking about the alumni, so he was less than impressed by the President's words. But he dismissed such heretical thoughts, smiled and thanked the couple again.

As soon as the President turned to introduce his wife to another guest, Shale made his escape. Quickly picking his way through the crowd, he went out the door and asked the valet to retrieve his car. On the way back to his apartment Shale pulled into a fast-food drive-in and bought a sandwich to take home for dinner.

As Shale sat down at their dining table to eat his meal, he asked himself, "How did things get so bad between Sylvia and me?" His mind wandered back to the beginning of their relationship. He recalled that he'd met Sylvia when he'd been commandeered to give a lecture to the local chapter of the geological society in his home town. Shale knew that it wasn't his speaking skills that had earned him the dubious honor; instead, it was the fact that he had just returned from Iceland, bringing back dozens of breathtaking photographs of that nation's many volcanoes.

Shale couldn't remember much about the lecture, but he did recall the photographer from the student newspaper who'd wanted to interview him after he had finished. He never did know why Sylvia was attracted to him, but there was no question that the slim, dark-haired young woman completely captivated him. Later he learned that he'd caught Sylvia on the rebound from a long-term relationship that had gone bad, but by that time the only thing he was concerned with was winning her permanently. The two of them moved in together while he finished up his doctorate.