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PAT WATCHED THE FRONT door of the Pair-O-Dice close behind Davison, the sliver of outdoor light slowly narrowing to nothing.
“This job is killing me,” Pat said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You just started,” Emma added.
“I had my first meeting with the athletics boosters this morning.”
“They make you work on Sunday?” I asked.
“We have boosters?” Emma echoed.
“Yup. I had to attend their monthly breakfast meeting to assure them that our athletic program is our number one priority. And then on Friday, I’m going to go stand in front of the faculty senate and tell them academics is our number one priority. Our chancellor refuses to say no to anyone, and it’s my job to somehow keep everyone happy.”
“Well, that’s why you’re getting the big bucks,” I said.
“Tough gig,” Emma sympathized. “Chancellor makes all these promises, then goes and hides till Pat and Victor can figure out how to make it all work.”
“That’s pretty much it,” Pat sighed. “And something else I didn’t expect about this job. Suddenly I’m privy to all this sensitive internal information. In a way, it’s the worst part.”
“That sounds like the best part,” Emma said.
“Seriously,” I agreed. “So what’s the dish?”
Pat shook his head despairingly. “Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. Molly, I already knew about your tenure vote. In fact, I know exactly what happened.”
“You do? Those committees are supposed to be confidential.”
“Nothing’s confidential. Seriously. Nothing. Not what goes on in closed meetings, not what you buy from your office computer, nothing that goes over the campus network, even if it’s from your private email account. Victor and I see everything. I’m gonna get more coffee.” Pat stood up and went up to the bar.
Emma and I looked at each other. Emma’s eyes were wide.
“They see everything we do on our computers?”
“That’s what he just said.”
“You think Pat and Victor know about that back massager I ordered?”
“I wouldn’t worry, Emma. They’re both guys. They probably think it’s actually for back pain.”
Pat returned, his Styrofoam cup brimming with watery tan brew.
“So what happened with Molly’s tenure vote?” Emma demanded.
“It was Hanson Harrison.” Pat set the cup down and took his seat. “He said he found your methodology ‘reductive,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“Yeah, well it was good enough to get a federal grant,” Emma snorted.
“Harrison?” I exclaimed. “I knew we had our differences, but he actually tried to destroy my career?”
“That’s the kicker. He didn’t realize this was your up-or-out tenure vote. He doesn’t read his email. Everyone else voted in your favor. And Larry Schneider went out of his way to stick up for you.”
“That’s just because Larry Schneider and Hanson Harrison hate each other.”
“So Pat,” Emma said, “why don’t you just walk away from this job, if it’s so bad?”
“I’ll tell you why. Because with my big fat salary, I now qualify for a home loan.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“Yeah, I’ve just put in a backup offer for my cabin, in case Randy Randolph’s deal falls out of escrow.”
“Do you have any reason to think he’ll fall out of escrow?”
“No.” Pat sighed. “Not unless someone drops an anvil on his head, or something.”
“Well, we can dream,” Emma said.
“Emma, you know what? I do feel like working out now.”
“Really?” Emma said.
“Yes. All of a sudden, I feel like hitting something. Pat, do you want to go with us?”
“Me, work out?” Pat said. “Have we met? Anyway, I’m supposed to finish the position paper on our Golf Course Management major.”
“What is our position on the Golf Course Management major?” I asked.
“Our position is, yes, Mister Yamada, your wonderful idea for a Golf Course Management major is going through, and before you know it, we’ll be putting out graduates who are ready and willing to work at your resort. And also, no, Senator Kamoku, of course we’re not considering offering a major in golf as a taxpayer-subsidized sop to our most powerful trustee. The very idea.”
“That’ll take some wordsmithing,” I said.
“You girls have fun at the gym.” Pat stood up. “Oh, and Emma, be careful lifting those weights. Back pain is no laughing matter.”
Unlike the Mahina State library, the Mahina State student gym was open on Sunday. Also unlike our library, it was packed with students.
“I’m losing my motivation now, Emma. I don’t want to wait in line for some sweaty machine. Maybe I can go home and punch a pillow or something.”
“They have classes in the back.” Emma led me through the clanging and grunting of the cavernous main workout space. “Let’s go see what’s there.”
Room “A” had a crowded high-impact dance class. Neither of us felt coordinated enough to jump into what looked like a complicated routine. Room “B” had a spin class. All the stationary bikes were occupied. Room “C” had a Tai Chi class with only a few students. It was a maybe. Room “D” had a Katana class starting at half past the hour.
“What’s Katana?” I asked.
“I think it’s sword fighting.”
“That sounds kind of fun.”
The door to the room was closed. We peeked through the narrow glass window. A lone man, dressed in wide-legged black trousers and a snug white t-shirt, expertly maneuvered a large sword. He whipped it around over his head, brought it around sideways, brandished and retracted it with such expertise it looked like a dance.
“No way could I do that. I’d walk out with an arm missing.”
“Wanna go back to the Tai Chi class?” Emma asked.
“I think I’ll just do the treadmill. Wait a minute. Is that...”
It was.
“Victor Santiago is the katana instructor?”
“Looks like it,” Emma said.
“He sure can handle that sword.”
“I know.”
We looked at each other.
“You think?” Emma said. “Victor? What’s he have against Primo Nordmann?”
“Are you kidding? That’s the easy part. His whole reason for being is to keep our donors happy. Like our favorite biotech guy, Randy Randolph.”
“Nah. Seriously?” Emma stared at him.
Victor caught sight of us lurking at the window. He rested the sword, point down, on the mat and looked straight at us, as if daring us to come in. I waved idiotically and ducked out of sight.
“He saw us,” Emma gasped.
“It’s the campus gym. We have every right to be here.”
“So you want to go take his class?”
“What? No. I’m just going to go walk on the treadmill.”
Emma took one last peek through the window. “He’s kinda sexy and dangerous.”
“Stop it, Emma. You’re married. Remember?”
“Well, he sure knows how to move.” Emma pulled away reluctantly from the window. “They never did find the weapon, did they? I’ll come do the treadmill with you.”
“No. I don’t think they ever did find the weapon.”