(no subject)
“How much we talking here?” Deborah suddenly assumed a stark businesslike tone through her chapped lips. Her father was a corporate manager at a large electronics concern.
Chief Rick Hollo eased back in his chair, in a theatrical exhibition denoting great ponderance of weighty issues, and slowly cradled the back of his head with his hands.
“Well Deb,” Hollo said. “We have at our disposal, right now, about ten thousand in unclaimed funds.” He wielded the factuality of the statement with precision and confidence, only usually found in windy legal types, or on the blustery pitch of internet discussion boards.
Ten thousand was a lot of money. PhD stipends at Milton for the English department were a feeble fifteen, a laughable sum compared to some other more major, more prominent universities. Of course the PhD stipend was considerably better than the master’s level stipends, which tended to hover around eleven grand.
“Of course,” Hollo went on. “There are a couple of conditions.”
He kept his hands on the back of his head, and paused, waiting for Deborah to process the possibility, and for her to contemplate just what the conditions might be. During the pause Chief Rick also contemplated exactly what the conditions might be. Bullshitting was such a draining endeavor. He knew he wanted her to dress up around the station, and maybe help clean up. Rick really wanted to love her. Somehow, someway, love this frail graduate student. Keep her at the station.
“Well,” Deborah said. “I have a couple of conditions too.”
She narrowed her bloodshot eyes and slowly went through a litany of conditions she would need. The desk. The bookshelf. Space to grade horrible undergraduate papers. A hidden condition, Deborah surmised, was that she would be free from the corrosive English department graduate student gossip.
Chief Rick stifled a smile. Could it be this easy? She was postulating a litany of requests that would be a snap to fill - but the mere postulation of the requests put her in a position of vulnerability. She was at the mercy of his compliance with the requests, though she perceived her requests to be bargaining chips. That they somehow gave her leverage. Hollo leaned forward in the vinyl upholstered bedside chair with a pained creak, and pretended to be interested in the rim of his Styrofoam coffee cup. For added effect, he slowly, pensively twirled bead of brown coffee along the inside edge, and watched as the fluorescents overhead made a traveling reflection like the bubble of a level.
William Comparetto
© 2007