In the monologue that follows, Dancey affirms this last point far more explicitly than I think is necessary. He does not say anything new, but he is angry, and he is a vindictive man.
“This is two-thousand six, Anna. No one deliberately endangers their position on tenure track. It would be the supremest of follies. You seem, therefore, to have committed an error of judgment, and this I find most upsetting, because it shows how your cultural background clashes with that of your students. You are not in control of your classroom. I do not need to stress what a fundamental problem this is, for you as well as for us who must assess your suitability for this job!”
I don’t say anything. He just wants to vent, not to discuss this constructively. I ought to tell him about Selena O’Neal’s act of self-harming vandalism, but I would sooner bite off my own tongue.
When I am back at my desk twenty minutes later and the phone rings, I’m tempted to rip out the plug from its socket. Of course I can’t. I’m on tenure track.
“Me. Could you come downstairs, please?”
“Giles, I don’t—”
“I want to talk to you, and your place is too crowded.”
“Yes, well, I don’t want to talk to you, so—hello—?”
He has hung up on me.
I slink past the open office doors and the students chatting by the water fountain and take the elevator down to the first floor. There are people around here, too, but I keep my eyes down and head straight for the door at the garden end, which is open just a crack. I step in, just far enough so I can see him sitting bent over his desk. The shirt across his shoulders looks like a thin, translucent skin gleaming against the dark leather of the chair. I would be all right if I was allowed to run my hand over the strands of muscle and the bumps of bone of his back. Lay my cheek against it. Utterly ridiculous how social conditioning works within me to associate the pure, fine strength of a male back with protection and safety.
“Anna.” He jumps up, impatient, or—something. Edgy. “Come in.”
“Really, I don’t—”
“Door. Will you—”
I do, although I have no intention of staying. “I’ve been shouted at enough for one day, thanks, so—”
“Shout? Why would I shout at you?” He is upset, and my defensive attitude draws him toward me with a couple of quick, long strides before he thinks better of it and retreats back to the sofa. “Come. Sit down.”
“Why? I’ve had my lecture. And—” I find it difficult to keep my voice steady, suddenly. “And thanks for—”
“Interfering? Yeah, thanks very much for nothing. Won’t you sit down, just for a second?”
He’s too impatient to wait out my sulks, or my obstinacy, or my—what? God, I wish he would give me a hug. He is so tall and full of pent-up energy, and his office is quiet and dusky, like a hide-out, even though it’s only mid-afternoon. I want to hide from the world, and I want to hide in Giles Cleveland’s…office.
“Listen, don’t—” He comes toward me again, as if he meant to grab me and make me sit down. “Don’t let them get to you. That’s all I want to say. You know that, don’t you? You know admin are all full of crap. Don’t pay Matthew any attention. Just do your thing.”
I’m still standing with my back against the door, my palms flat against the cool wood.
“But that isn’t what they want.” I have to swallow a pain in my throat, but it’s better to speak than not. “They don’t like…my thing. They don’t like me here.”
“See?” He stabs at me with his hand, vindicated. “That’s why I had to talk to you! I knew you’d turn this into a great big stick to clobber yourself with! Don’t do that!”
“Don’t you turn me into a neurotic female, Giles! I’m not a good fit at Ardrossan! First the rumpus about my contract, then Logan Williams, now all this—and Dancey can’t stand me, you saw that, didn’t you? Time to face facts! I’m walking the plank here!”
He has come close enough to see that my eyes are stinging, and it adds to his exasperation.
“Balderdash!”
“It is not balderdash!” I interrupt myself, suddenly tickled. “Balderdash? Who says balderdash these days?”
This takes him aback, and he stands gazing at me with a watchful frown, scrutinizing me, checking whether it is plausible that I have calmed down.