“The information from the English department tenure committee will be harder. Requests from the dean don’t impress them, and legally, they have the right to keep their proceedings secret.”
“Legally in a court of law?”
Reynolds shrugged.
“I don’t know. Legally under university bylaws.”
“Even if the proceedings may in themselves have violated university bylaws?”
Reynolds smiled again.
“My guess would be,” he said, “especially then.”
“Did you know Prentice Lamont?” I said.
“No.”
“How about Robinson Nevins?”
“I recognized him if we passed in the corridor, I don’t think we’ve ever talked.”
“How about Amir Abdullah.”
Reynolds leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
“Ah,” he said, “Mr. Abdullah.”
I waited.
“I understand you’ve already had an altercation with Mr. Abdullah.”
“I prefer to say I’ve already won an altercation with Mr. Abdullah.”
“Not everyone can claim that,” Reynolds said. “You appear to have the build for it.”
“How’ve you done?” I said.
“Our altercations are somewhat different,” Reynolds said. “But I guess we’re about even.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Officially? Professor Abdullah is an esteemed member of our faculty.”
“And unofficially?”
“A great pain in the ass,” Reynolds said.
“I need to know as much as I can,” I said.
“About Abdullah?”
“About everything. You seem to know about Abdullah.”
“I know something about Abdullah, and I have some opinions, but they are not for dissemination.”
“It is not in the best interest of a guy who does what I do,” I said, “to blab things told him in confidence. And you have my word that it will be in confidence unless I am legally compelled to repeat it.”
“Fair enough,” Reynolds said. “Abdullah is a poseur. He is intellectually dishonest. He exploits his blackness and his gayness for his own advantage. He cares only about his own advancement. He does not like to teach, and his publications are polemic rather than scholarship. He is, I believe, though I’ve not been able to catch him, a sexual predator who preys on young men in his classes.”
“If you catch him?”
“If I catch him,” Reynolds said, “he’s gone. Tenure or no tenure.”
“And you win,” I said.
“And I win.”
A tall good-looking black woman with gray highlights in her short hair came in carrying a copy of the transcript.
“Who gets this?” she said.
Reynolds pointed at me and she handed it to me and smiled and walked out. I gave the transcript a fast eyeball.
“Prentice took three courses last semester in African-American studies,” I said. “Could they be Abdullah?”
Reynolds put out a hand and I gave him the transcript; he glanced through it.
“All of them,” he said, “would be Professor Abdullah.”
“What is Prentice’s major?”
Reynolds glanced at the transcript.
“He was getting a master’s degree in English literature,” he said.
“Is it unusual that he’d take all these African courses?”
“Yes.”
“What department does Abdullah belong to?” I said.
