Chapter One
Anna graduated from Horace College nine years ago. During her junior year she had a work-study job in the President's Office. It was the usual stuff-filing, copying, fielding phone calls, etc.
One day college president Earl Heppner gave her a stack of papers to copy. Being a naturally curious young lady, she made sure to look at everything she copied or filed. Mostly it was really boring stuff-all the juicy personnel papers were given to the full-time staff to deal with. But on this day, along with a big pile to copy, were four or five pages of neatly printed, hand-written accounts. Anna had no idea what it was about, but she had the presence of mind to make an extra copy for herself to peruse at her leisure.
She took it home that night and couldn't make head or tail of it. She considered asking one of her girlfriends-an accounting major-but thought better of it. Good thing, too, because even though it took her a week to figure it out, this was news she had to keep to herself.
Anna was a very systematic person, even then. So she wrote out long hand exactly what case she had against President Heppner. Along the way she checked and double checked all her facts and inferences, to make sure she hadn't made a mistake. The stakes were very high-if she was wrong it would ruin her career.
Apparently Dr. Heppner owed $25,000 to somebody named "Bob". Bob had agreed to accept payment in installments over a year, with $3,000 due each month-the extra being vigorish. So the President had set up a Capital Improvement Fund, unusual only in the sense that he alone could sign checks drawn on that account (most accounts needed at least two signatures). And so every month he had $4,000 deposited into the account from the College's general fund, and then he withdrew $3,000 to pay off Bob. He carefully cooked the books so that the Accounting Office would never know.
What Anna had in front of her were copies of both sets of books for the Capital Improvement Fund-the cooked and uncooked records. Understandably, Dr. Heppner had been as laborious and careful in putting that together as Anna had been in deciphering it.
The following week she make an appointment to see Dr. Heppner. She brought copies of the accounts with her, leaving her long hand narrative at home.
"I have something I think you'd be interested in seeing." She handed the papers across the desk.
Dr. Heppner glanced quickly, and then did a longer double take. His face turned ashen. "Where did you get this?"
"It doesn't matter where I got it. I have it now."
"Well, I'm glad you brought this back to me. Thank you very much. Is there anything I can offer you by way of reward?" He pulled a $20 bill out of his wallet.
"I kept a copy for myself. I thought I might give it to the police."
Dr. Heppner shrank back in his chair. "What do you want from me?" he finally stammered.
"Five hundred dollars a month, every month, in cash. Schedule me with your secretary for the first of every month, and I'll come to your office to pick up the money." She paused. "But you owe me the first installment tomorrow."
She'd kept in touch with Earl (as she now calls him) even after she graduated.
She knew enough about academia to know that not even the President can make personnel decisions. Those always went through committees-search committees for hiring, and campus committees for tenure. Still, Earl could put a thumb on the scales-she expected him to do no less.
After she finished grad school, she applied for and got a job as an assistant professor of English and women's studies at Horace College. That made it easier to collect her monthly payment.
Chapter Two
Anna Greten and Mary Jean Peprin walked slowly across the main quad. It was a beautiful day in early May, a few weeks before the Summer break. Coeds were sunbathing, while the relatively few guys were playing frisbee.
Anna, still an untenured assistant professor, had just gotten word that her book had been accepted for publication-the one she hoped would earn her tenure. Titled '
Defeating the Male Gaze'
, oddly enough it was a fashion book. It concerned the effort to stop men from regarding women as sex objects and to cease looking at them lustfully.
A long book-at over 600 pages it included extensive notes. Anna didn't realize that her thesis could be reduced to a single page, or even to a single sentence: "Dress like an old lady." Either that, or wear a burqa.
Her companion, older than Anna, already had tenure. Indeed, she was on the Promotion & Tenure Committee, the body that'd decide Anna's fate in a few years. Mary Jean was the driving force behind the campus' 'anti-masculinism' effort-a serious attempt to destroy male privilege and insist that men behave like women. All the rage at Horace College-any disagreement got you pilloried, or even fired.
Mary Jean was probably on 45 or so, but looked older. She certainly didn't have to worry about the male gaze-'ugly bitch' is the way they'd probably describe her. She wore no jewelry or make-up-the bright sun illuminated every wrinkle. Her hair was streaked with gray. A loose blouse covered those sagging, amorphous blobs of flesh otherwise known as breasts. And fortunately, the ankle-length skirt hid every inch of fatty thigh and varicose calf.
Anna was secretly grateful she didn't look like that. She worked out at home-only for the sake of health she told herself and others, but it certainly didn't hurt her appearance. And being more than a decade younger she still passed as a young woman. Her hair showed her native brunette-she plucked the occasional gray strands. In a few years graying would be obvious, and anti-masculinist ideology frowned on artificial color-that just encouraged them. Like Mary Jean, she dressed frumpily, with clothes that would look good on an eighty-year-old.
Coming towards them Anna saw Todd Travers. He'd started working at Horace the same year as Anna, and taught criminology in the pre-law program. He was all sweaty, dressed in sports clothes and soccer cleats.
"Where's the suit and tie?" greeted Mary Jean, sternly. In the classroom Dr. Travers was nattily dressed. It suited his six-foot, athletic frame.
"I was out playing soccer with the guys," laughed Todd. "Hard to play soccer in suit."
"Soccer? Isn't that a bit...
competitive
?" complained Anna.
"We don't keep score," he said, probably lying. "Besides, there aren't very many sports for guys on this campus. So we've organized our own soccer league. Just three teams, but it's a start."
The only varsity sports for men at Horace were table tennis and ballroom dancing. Those met the anti-masculinist criteria, though that was always disputed.
"I think soccer is too competitive," repeated Anna. "And also, we should only have sports where men and women can play on the same team. Otherwise it promotes male privilege."
"Where are you women headed?" asked Todd, desperately trying to change the subject. He carefully avoided using masculinist terms such as "ladies" or "girls."
Mary Jean answered. "Anna just got her book accepted for publication. We're going out for a beer to celebrate. Would you like to come along?"
"No thanks," he said, with a momentary grimace. "I have to take a shower, and then I've got a ton of papers to grade. But congratulations."
Anna couldn't let it go. "We were thinking of replacing table tennis with flower arranging. What do you think of that?"
"Flower arranging? Is that a sport?" And for guys?"
"They'd have to go out and collect wildflowers, and within a specified time. So it requires athletic skill. And it teaches young men sensitivity and aesthetics."
"It's probably bad for the environment," answered Todd, scrounging around for any excuse. "Hey, look, I gotta go. I'll see you around. And congrats again on your book."
"Don't forget that you're scheduled to serve tea and cookies at tomorrow's faculty meeting," Anna yelled after him.
As they approached Winthrop Hall, the administration building where Earl's office was, Anna became more and more nervous. "I have a quick errand to run before we go," she told her companion. "Can you give me fifteen minutes?"
Anna was anxious for good reason. About a year ago, the folder containing Earl's accounts and her longhand notes had gone missing. She had turned her apartment upside down looking for it, but to no avail. So far it hadn't made any difference-Earl still produced the $500 on schedule. But if she ever had to make good on her threat to go to the cops, it'd be harder to do so.
"I'm here to see Dr. Heppner," she told the secretary.
"He's expecting you. Go right in."
