Look Closer

When I enter his office, his personal laptop is open on the desk, a green notebook sitting next to it.

The screensaver is on, a cartoon of Uncle Sam as Pac-Man, Pac-Sam, gobbling up constitutional rights as he moves about the screen.

I sit down at the desk and tap the keyboard. The password box appears.

I don’t need to rummage through his sock drawer to find his list of passwords. I already know the password to his laptop.

It’s I_Love_Vicky.

54 Simon

After class, I walk to the Chicago Title & Trust Building. The usual routine, the Starbucks, sitting down in the lobby, powering on the phone, inserting the SIM card. At ten, I send a text:

Hello, princess.

She replies quickly:

Hello, Prince Charming. How r u?

The word “charming” is not a word usually associated with me. I reply:

I can’t concentrate on anything but you. I forgot what case I was teaching this morning. You have me floating, lady.

She responds:

Can’t really talk right now. Tonight no good either. But tomorrow?

I text:

Tomorrow it is, my queen. Pretty soon, we’ll have all the time we need.

I shut off the phone, remove the SIM card, and close my eyes. We’re really doing this.

—

On my way back to my office at the law school, I see my favorite person coming from the other direction. On any given day, I’d rather eat bark off a tree than force myself to have a conversation with Dean Comstock.

But I’m not in the mood to run or hide. Not now.

His expression changes when he sees me.

“Hello there, Simon,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets, lest I be under the impression that a handshake is in our future. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”

We haven’t talked since I submitted all my materials in the closing hours of the application period. I would’ve loved to see the look on his face when he heard.

“I thought we had an understanding,” he says.

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to anything, Dean.”

“No, that’s right. But I thought you understood that I was looking out for your best interests. What with your . . .”

“My what? My sordid history?”

“Since you put it that way, yes.”

I glance around, as did he, making sure we are alone in the hallway. I lean in slightly and lower my voice. “You’re going to trash me to the faculty, Dean? That your plan?”

“Well, as I said before, Simon, in any kind of a close contest between applicants, people will naturally look for—”

“Tiebreakers, yes, I remember,” I say. “You and I both know I’m the better professor. I’m the better scholar. I’m the one who deserves the job.”

“You’re certainly entitled to your opinion.”

“So is everyone else. On the merits. On the merits, Dean. Not rumor or gossip or innuendo.”

“Well, Simon, I don’t dictate to the faculty what it should or should not deem relevant—”

“You don’t have the balls,” I say.

The dean draws back. “Say again?”

“Sure, I’ll say it again. You, Dean, do not have the balls.”

I’ll say this for the old chap, he has a good poker face. His eyes glisten and his jaw steels, but otherwise he keeps up a good front. He even lets out a small chuckle.

“My friend, do not make the mistake of underestimating me,” he says.

I pat him on the shoulder. “Funny,” I say. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

55 Christian

I come into work like every morning. A quick hello to my receptionist, Emily, and then I go into my office. As I am not actually a financial guy, I don’t really need this office, but appearances are appearances. Besides, I’ll go crazy spending the entire day at home every day. A change of scenery is nice.

Sometimes I do actually work. Though “work” isn’t checking the markets and forecasting investments; it’s scouting for targets and considering other cities for the next venture. But now that I’ve found Vicky and her twenty-one million dollars, I won’t need any other targets. I’m going to be done soon.

For Emily, a nineteen-year-old I found from a temp agency who is going to college part-time, I play the same role I play for Vicky, a rich, genius money guy who only has a few hugely wealthy clients. Most of these clients have been with me for years, I’ve explained, they live all around the world, and they have my personal cell number, so this office of mine downtown doesn’t really function as much of an office.