Free Ivory Tower by K C Maguire

Ivory Tower
    “Was Professor Blenheim on our list?”  My best friend Melissa  probed me for dirt on our imminent dean search. 
    “Why?”  We weren’t supposed to gossip about it in public, but as we were hidden away at our usual back corner table in the campus diner, I figured it was safe enough.
    “Apparently he died yesterday.”  Melissa shrugged her shoulders.  “Heart attack or something.”
    “Really?”  I toyed with the straw in my iced tea.  Although Professor Blenheim had been a big deal on the dean market, to me he was just another curriculum vitae I’d have to vet.
    “So?  Was he on the list?”  I couldn’t understand why she was so interested.  She’d been around long enough to know that despite the lip service to “process” and “ find the best candidate”, the dean search was fundamentally a sham to cover up our old boys’ network.  The successor in line to our deanship was probably already chosen.  And I had known for several weeks who it wouldn’t be.  “No idea.  I haven’t seen the list yet.” 
    “I’m still surprised they put you back on the committee,” my friend said as she eyed my fries.
    “Please don’t start that again.”  I batted her hand away as she grabbed for my plate.  It was bad enough to watch her eat everything in sight and maintain her stick thin figure without having to feed her myself.  She removed her hand and made a show of tucking her perfect platinum blonde locks behind her ears, and revealing the diamond stud earrings she’d recently wheedled from her husband.
    Jealous much, Evie?   I shook my head and pushed my plate toward her.  The fries weren’t going to do me any good anyway.
    “C’mon, girl,” she said as she tucked in with her manicured fingertips.  I surveyed my own unpolished nails.  Maybe if I had tried harder to look the part of a professional department head, I wouldn’t have been stuck on the committee again. 
    Acting department head, I reminded myself.
    “You’d be a great dean.  You know it, Evie.  Why do they keep sticking you on the committee when you’re such an obvious candidate?”
    I knew exactly why, but I couldn’t tell Melissa.  I didn’t tell anyone what I did, but the powers-that-be figured it out anyway.  That’s why I wasn’t in the running.  I was barely hanging on to the acting department head job by the tips of my un-manicured nails.
    “Well then,” Melissa adopted her most authoritative professorial tone, “if you’re not going to tell me about the dean search, you owe me some gossip.”  It was obvious what she was getting at by the self-satisfied smirk on her face.  “At least admit you’re glad I talked you into going to the new faculty social.”
    “Maybe.”  I made a show of smoothing my thick wool skirt over my knees to avoid her penetrating gaze.  I didn’t want to admit how well my first date had gone with Pete Charlesworth, the new bio-chem professor—  at least not until I was more sure of him.  He asked me out again so that  must be a good sign, even though I had to admit the pickings were pretty lean in our  one-horse college town.
    “Okay, then you have to tell me about dean search stuff.  One or the other.  Your choice.”
    Praying for deliverance, I glanced at my watch and realized that we had accidentally taken another overlong lunch.  Ignoring Melissa’s expectant expression, I tapped the face of the antique timepiece and reached for the check.  Melissa beat me to it.  Snatching up her purse, she made her way to the front counter to offer a couple of folded bills to the acne-covered student manning the register.  I tried to push a ten-dollar bill toward her but she slapped my hand away.
    “It’s on me,” she said, “but you have to tell me how your date went.  Quid pro quo can be such a bitch.”
    “Yeah, so can you.”  I couldn’t help smiling as I retrieved our heavy wool coats from the rack by the door.
      Twenty minutes later, I