I make a mental note to check in with him later this afternoon.
I open a letter from my department chair, Patrick, admiring the vintage stationery page, a raised Edgar Allan Poe silhouette at the top. I smile into my coffee mug and take another bite of crepe, wondering how Patrick handled Brad McGregor in my Jane Austen seminar.
Dear Lizzie,
I hope you are well. I know you’re not checking email and Willoughby’s perpetual dumpster fire is the last thing you want to hear about. But this is just too good...
Someone put xeroxed erotic love letters between Evie Caldwell and Bill Rhodes in everyone’s mailboxes. They were sleeping together sometime in the mid-eighties and addressed each other as Cupid and Psyche. The affair ended badly, and because both have the maturity of eight-year-olds, they’ve hated each other to this day. All hell’s expected to break loose at the first fall faculty meeting. Bring popcorn.
And sorry... you MIGHT hear from Sandra. She thought we should tell you about Rhodes’s interview with the paper. I told her not to bother you with it, but she might have sent it anyway. Don’t worry—he’s just jealous. Admin knows they’d be crazy to get rid of you.
In other news, Brad McGregor is still a gaping asshole.
All the best,
Patrick
He could have texted me, but these letters are much more satisfying. No jarring message dings, no stimulating screens. I can merely mull over business and friendship gossip from this sunlit kitchen without distraction
Smiling, I make my way to the last of my letters, finding one from Sandra. Ah. This must be the interview. I’m wildly curious about what Bill Rhodes has to say about me. I pour another cup of coffee and open it.
She includes a brief note wishing me well and telling me she hopes I’m enjoying myself. Then:Patrick disagrees, but I thought you should know what this wretched man is up to. Don’t worry. We all have your back in the English department.
A neatly cut article from the local paper shows Bill Rhodes sitting in his office at Willoughby College. A large, framed print of Voltaire looms on the wall behind him, emphasizing his short stature. His dark-framed readers stand out on his round face, and he scowls, arms crossed across his chest. Overall, he looks like a crankier, academic version of Wallace Shawn inThe Princess Bride.But instead of the charming Sicilian robes, he sports trousers and an ill-fitting sweater vest. I remember all the reasons I dislike the man.
Is Local Professor and Bestselling Author Receiving Preferential Treatment?
Twentysomething journalist and former Miss South Carolina Mackaylee Hillsdale conducted the interview. Over my coffee, I roll my eyes. Ambitious, she’s clearly working at the local paper as she claws her way to one of the national news shows. She loves trying to crack open local scandals. Dysfunction at Willoughby would be right up her alley.
Mackaylee:Dr. Bill Rhodes, distinguished professor of philosophy at Willoughby College, is here to talk about what seems to be an increasingly concerning issue for students and faculty—the untouchable position of bestselling author and English professor Dr. Elizabeth Wells. Dr. Rhodes, would you like to tell us, in a nutshell, what’s going on?
Bill Rhodes:Well, it’s quite simple. Dr. Wells has displayed increasingly bizarre behavior on campus and hasn’t been doing her job.
Mackaylee:She recently lost her husband, right?
Bill Rhodes:Yes, yes, of course we all felt sorry for her when she lost Peter.
Mackaylee:Do you meanPhilipWells?
Bill Rhodes:Sure, whatever. But she started coming to campus dressed like a nun—full black, black leggings, black blouses, black skirts. Rumor has it she even carries her husband’s ashes around with her. She’s been skipping meetings, only communicating through paper letters rather than email, and she went on an unhinged tirade at a student during class. The student was traumatized by the event. Yet she was never held accountable and instead was given paid leave. It’s my understanding that she’s romping about in England somewhere on Willoughby’s dime.
Mackaylee:And yet, tuition has gone up 10 percent this past year. Is that correct?
Bill Rhodes:Absolutely. The bottom line, Mackaylee, is that just because Dr. Wells is a bestselling author—ofjuvenileliterature, might I add, and not actual scholarship—the administration sees her as immune from any meaningful responsibilities or discipline. It’s favoritism, and parents who pay substantial money for their children to attend Willoughby deserve better from their faculty.
Mackaylee:Wow. So you’re saying that just because she writes lucrative work unconnected to her position, she’snot expected to have the same responsibilities as other hardworking Willoughby faculty?
Bill Rhodes:I am saying that, Mackaylee. And if it were up to me, I would hold professors like Dr. Wells, who write their popular trash and hide behindNew York Timesbestseller lists without doing their jobs, accountable. This is an insult to all other responsible faculty working here. Finally, I would like to add that my latest book,Metaphysical Intellectualism in Neoclassical England,is on shelves now.
Mackaylee includes an addendum noting that she reached out to the administration but received no response. However, when she contacted Willoughby College’s English department chair, he replied promptly:
Patrick Anderson:I will say that as Dr. Wells’s department chair, I support her to the hilt. Apart from her wildly successful publishing career, Dr. Wells is an excellent teacher, Brontë scholar, and researcher. Willoughby College is lucky to have her. Dr. Rhodes is merely speaking from jealousy as sales for his book have been abysmal and the latest academic review deemed it “a real snoozer with facile and outdated scholarship.”
I smile at Patrick’s loyalty. He was always better than me at the pithy playground retorts in academia. The entire interview would be comical if it weren’t for the Mirabel situation. Obviously, this article could add to her case that I’m mentally unfit.
I check in with Henry and ask him if he’s seen it.
He texts back in seconds:Hey! I was just getting ready to text you. I can’t put WH down. But OH MAN—why does everyone swoon over Heathcliff? He can act like a real dickwad on some of these pages. The guy HANGS HIS WIFE’S DOG!!!!
