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“ALL I’M WEARING UNDER this is a pair of brown tights and a bra,” I said. Emma looked over my shoulder and waved her hand to shush me.
“It’s Professor Barda,” said a familiar (and disapproving) voice. “I should have known.”
The voice belonged to Marshall Dixon, whose ensemble gave no hint of Halloween unless you counted the fact that her Italian knit taupe cardigan was trimmed with black bugle beads. As always, Marshall was an exemplar of subdued elegance, a living illustration of the advice that the wearer should be remembered, not the clothes. A wizened little woman in a purple shawl clung to Marshall’s arm. The stranger wore her white hair pulled back in a loose bun, secured on one side by a giant purple rose.
“Miss Pfaff,” Marshall Dixon said gently, “this is Molly Barda, from the College of Commerce, and Emma Nakamura, from Biology. They’re working on a grant together. Molly, Emma, this is Miss Dorothy Pfaff. She has arranged to donate several important works, and we’re working on plans for a new library wing for preservation and display. Miss Pfaff has so many wonderful, innovative ideas. By this time next year, we may have in place a new scholarship fund for students in creative fields. And possibly an endowed chair in the Arts.”
Translation: This is an Important Donor. Don’t embarrass me, you idiots.
“I told Marshall I had to meet the giant Palmetto bug,” Miss Dorothy Pfaff cackled. “Love your costume, Hon.” She reached up to pluck at one of my antennae.
“Are you related to Mary Pfaff?” Emma asked.
“Mary Pfaff?” I exclaimed. “The Beatrix Potter of Hawaii?”
Dorothy beamed, obviously pleased that we knew about her famous grandmother. Only then did Marshall allow herself to smile, too.
“Sorry, Miss Pfaff, I didn’t mean to gush. But I love Alice Mongoose.”
“It’s true,” Emma said. “Molly’s a huge fangirl. She wore her Alice the Mongoose t-shirt till it got all full of pukas, and now she sleeps in it.”
“It’s Alice Mongoose, Emma, not Alice the Mongoose. It’s not Peter the Rabbit, right?”
Marshall murmured something and steered Miss Dorothy Pfaff away from us and toward a canapé-bearing waiter.
“I’m not sure everyone needed to know that about my t-shirt, Emma. Oh, good. Here’s Donnie. Maybe he’s ready to go home.”
“Where’s Pat?” Donnie asked us. “I thought he’d be here.”
“Pat’s a part-timer,” Emma said. “They’re never invited to these things.”
“I forgot you know our athletic director. What were you two discussing over there?”
“Excuse me. I see champagne.” Emma hurried off.
“Buck was bending my ear about the legislative budget cuts,” Donnie said. “Having to do more with less. Same kinda thing you’re always talking about. Are you ready?”
“Very. Let me grab my purse. Yeah, I love how they cut our appropriations, so we try to make up for the lost money by raising tuition, and then they get up and rack up political points by denouncing us for raising tuition and cut our budget even more.”
My purse had fallen off the chair and ended up square underneath it. I tried to retrieve it by bending at the waist, then at the knees, but thanks to my stiff carapace, I was unable to reach the ground.
“I’ll get it. Buck said something about steering a course between Scylla and Charybdis. What does that mean?” He retrieved my purse and handed it to me.
“It means trying to make your way between two evils without getting hurt by either one, like navigating a ship between a rocky shoal and a whirlpool. If you get far enough from one, you get too close to the other.”
Donnie was quiet on the ride home. It wasn’t until I had removed and bagged up the cockroach costume, showered, and climbed into Donnie’s big bed that he finally spoke.
“Does it bother you that I don’t have a college education?” Donnie asked.
“What? No. Seriously, no. Why should it bother me?”
“I’m not as educated as you are,” Donnie said.
“No one’s as educated as I am. Wait, that didn’t sound right. I didn’t mean it to sound like bragging. I’m just saying I rode the education train all the way to the last stop. Ph.D. And I have the student loan payments to show for it.”
“Emma’s husband has an MBA.”
“Yoshi? Donnie, you are better than Yoshi in every possible way. I’m amazed at what you’ve accomplished, building your own business. I mean it. Especially since I got stuck teaching the business planning class. Ever since I was assigned the business planning class, I’ve realized how hard it is to do. How much goes into it. And how unlikely it is that a business will survive past five years. Anyone who can make it work has my admiration and respect. I couldn’t do it.”
“Scylla and Charybdis. What kind of class would you learn that in?”
“I’d say a literature class. Something that covers either Homer or James Joyce.”
“It seems like everyone has a college degree now.” I couldn’t see Donnie’s face in the dark, but from the tone of his voice, I could tell he was frowning.
“Actually, only about a third of American adults have a four-year degree.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. But look, if it’s something you want to do, sign up for night classes at Mahina State. You could go part time and get your bachelor’s in six years.”
“No, I can’t do that,” Donnie said.
“Why not?”
“I can’t afford the stigma of a Mahina State degree.”
“What? The stigma? Of having a degree from the place where I’ve made my career?”
“Sorry, Molly, I didn’t mean it that way.” He stroked my hair. The gesture seemed condescending, like a pat on the head. “I’m really proud of what you do there. But you know what I mean. Image is important in my business. I can't have a degree from a college that advertises on television.”
“Where did you hear that you’re not supposed to get your degree from somewhere that advertises on TV?”
“From you, Molly. Don’t you remember? When we were talking about where to send Davison?”
“There’s nothing wrong with Mahina State,” I insisted.
“Of course not.” Donnie and I were close, our noses barely an inch apart. “How are you feeling, Molly? Are you tired?”
“I’m not tired. But I am kind of grumpy now.”
“Aw, that’s a shame,” he murmured. “Let’s see if we can make you feel better.”