And then there were the phone calls from nervous people anxious to speak with him. When he wasn’t in, they insisted I write down bizarre messages to pass along to him. “Five stars on the horizon tonight,” was a particular repeated message, and then their names and phone numbers. They called from all over the country—sometimes the world, based on the various accents. I started to think it was one big joke, and began to grow weary of the ridiculousness of it all.
While Dr. Richards always treated those messages with urgency, snatching them out of his mailbox and stuffing them quickly into the pocket of his tweed jacket, he would let messages from students pile up without responding.
Finally, when a student called for the fifth time, practically sobbing, saying she couldn’t graduate unless she could talk to Dr. Richards about her final research paper, I’d had enough.
Granted, it had been a bad day. I’d broken the coffeepot at home, spilled ink on my white blouse, and the laundry Tom had promised to fold remained mounded up around the apartment. I took Dr. Richards’s messages and marched to his office door. I knocked.
A soft response. “Who is it?”
“It’s Lynn at the front desk. You have several students who need to speak with you, Dr. Richards.”
“I’ll get to them.”
I turned the handle, expecting to open the door just enough to stick the messages in and then quickly close it. Instead, the knob turned easier than I thought and the door flew open.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Richards said.
“I am so sorry,” I replied, my face flushed. I held out the messages. “I really feel like you should call them—”
I stopped in midsentence. The maps covering the walls all had red pins with connecting strings, making the room feel like a bizarre spider’s web. Each of the pins seemed to have a note with some kind of furious writings. The maps continued all the way across the ceiling.
“Miss, you’re going to have to leave. You’re not allowed in here. And I will call those people back when I can.”
“Those people?” I found myself firing back. Stop talking! You need this job! “They are your students! You don’t even know my name, do you? I’ve worked here for four months.”
It was clear he didn’t. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was in desperate need of a cut. “I’m sorry, I’m very busy.”
Be quiet! “Students are asking for their grades. Some are waiting to graduate.”
“I will respond to them all today.”
I nodded once and began to close the door when he spoke again. “You are Lynn Stanson, married name Lynn Roseworth. Vanderbilt graduate, English lit major, 4.0 grade point average, from Nashville, Tennessee.”
I looked back at him in surprise, only to see that he was back to reading the papers in front of him. “I wouldn’t let you take my messages if I didn’t know who you were.”
I turned to walk away and then stopped. “Why are those messages so strange? Is it some kind of joke? Are they friends of yours trying to be funny? Because they don’t sound funny. They sound angry.”
“They are colleagues of mine. Take down the messages and make sure you write them down exactly.”
Get out of this office. “I’m the office manager, not just a secretary. The other professors even use me to proof their research papers. Dr. Long is sending me to the library now to do research for him. So I don’t need to be told how to do simple tasks.” You are going to get fired, and Tom will have to drop out of school. “I’ll tell you what: From now on, if someone calls for you, I’ll see if you are in. And if you are, you can take the call. If not, I’ll ask them to call back later. That way, you’ll never doubt that your messages were taken down correctly.” Thank you for the four months of employment.
I had hoped the dean wouldn’t call me immediately with the termination notice. I might have a day or two to find a new job—
“Mrs. Roseworth, do you think… you could do some work for me? Obviously, I’m a little disorganized. I don’t mean to be aloof. It comes naturally.”
When he smiled, it was almost childlike. He was clearly unaccustomed to it, like an awkward boy sitting for a school picture. Dr. Richards couldn’t have been more than seven, maybe eight years older than me. Shut up and thank him and agree to help.
I stared over the rims of my own glasses. “Get those students straightened out, and I’ll be happy to help you. What kind of work do you need me to do?”
“Just… keep taking the messages accurately for now. And I’ll let you know when I need you for something more.”
I closed the door, hoping he would never make the request. If my old babysitter, Mrs. Ross, had seen that mess of an office, she’d have said, “Bless his heart.”
I’d gone back to the library and come back with so much research on solar flares for Dr. Long that he looked at me in astonishment. I wanted to explain that what I did two hours ago in Dr. Richards’s office could have gotten me fired, so I needed to earn some goodwill among the other professors. Instead, I returned to my desk and prayed.
When I arrived the next day, two large boxes were stacked on my chair. A note on top read: “Start with these. Organize by date. Only date.—Dr. Richards.”
I put the boxes aside, thinking it would take me no time flat to organize the files by date, even though the boxes were quite heavy. I would do as Dr. Richards asked and politely thank him for the task. Be sure to let me know if you need anything else, I would say quietly.
The day had been busy with arranging meetings for students and the professors, fetching coffee, and copy editing an article about the gases around Saturn. The boxes stared at me like a hungry dog.
Before I prepared to leave, I peeked at a few of the files, knowing that my calendar tomorrow appeared freer, and I could tackle the project, maybe even finish it by late afternoon.
The first few pages in the file had most of the words blacked out. So many of the words were marked through I couldn’t comprehend even what was typed or written on the pages. A quick glance through the files found them all to be the same.
Dr. Richards had to be in on this joke. My face grew hot. I strode down the hallway. Tom hadn’t even thanked me for staying up late the previous night to prepare his lunch. He’d also washed my favorite blouse with a pair of his red basketball shorts.
I went to Dr. Richards’s office and knocked on the door. When he didn’t answer, I turned the handle.
He sat at his desk, several books stacked in front of him. He didn’t look up. “Apparently, that lock is broken. I’ll have to have maintenance come fix it. I didn’t say enter.”
“I saw you come in a few hours ago. You should respond when someone knocks on your door. So, is this a joke? There isn’t a date on these, and they’re all blacked out.”
“There are dates. You won’t find them in their usual locations. You have to look within the paragraphs.”
“Why? What is this? Why is it all blacked out?”
He looked up, irritated. “When I feel like you can do this job, I’ll explain more. If you can’t do this job, then there’s no need to explain.”
I wanted to take his stupid boxes and stack them outside his door so when he opened it, he might trip on them. I flushed at the thought. “Yes Dr. Richards,” I managed to say.
I returned to my chair, trying to ignore the boxes jeering at me. Tom would be working late. I had no interest in or desire to spend another night eating alone.
It was nearly seven o’clock when Dr. Richards left. As usual, he didn’t acknowledge anyone or even note that I was still at my desk, hours after I was typically gone.
I immediately began pulling out the pages from the first box and began reading.