A functional and impersonal counter greeted me as I entered an office directly opposite the entrance. A student type sat behind the counter, busily staring at a computer monitor. I wondered what she was looking at. I had used computers when I was a professor, but I had never owned one and I didn’t derive much pleasure from watching a screen. I preferred reality.
She reluctantly dragged her eyes away from whatever enthralled her and said, “Can I help you?”
I repressed a desire to say, “I don’t know, can you?” and to give her a lecture on the difference between “can” and “may,” but that job belonged to an English teacher. I said, “Yes. My name is Professor Lillian Morgan. I would like to speak to Priscilla Estavez.” Mark had given me her name.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“ No. I just need five minutes of her time.”
“What’s it in regard to?”
“I would like to ask her some questions about your sexual harassment policy.” I tried to say that in a positive way.
“She’s in a meeting.”
“That’s okay. I’m in no hurry; I’ll wait.”
“I don’t know how long the meeting will last. You can have a seat if you want to,” she said, doubtfully.
Everybody was always in a meeting. I took a few steps to a chair set against the wall, with thin metal legs and a molded seat and back in one piece. I sat down and noticed that its lack of comfort was not conducive to waiting. I hoped my presence would motivate my helper to contact Ms. Estavez.
After several minutes I heard her talking to somebody on the phone. She spoke softly and the counter intervened so I couldn’t understand what she said. But then her head appeared above the counter and she said, “Ms. Estavez will see you now.”
She directed me down a hallway that started at one end of the counter. I passed several doors until I came to one with a sign beside it that read, “Patricia Estavez, Student Affairs.”
The door was open so I walked in. Ms. Estavez sat behind a metal desk, reading a document, but she looked up and smiled as I entered. She stood and said, “I’m Priscilla Estavez.” She offered me her hand across the desk.
“Lillian Morgan,” I said, as I took it.
She said, “Nice to meet you,” and motioned me to a seat in front of the desk, which I accepted. It was more comfortable than the one in the waiting area. “What school are you with, Professor Morgan?” she asked.
“Duke.” I said it almost without thinking and hoped I didn’t look too old to still be teaching. By contrast, she looked young and earnest. She had pulled her reddish-brown hair back into a knot and she wore frameless glasses. Her white blouse was buttoned up to the neck.
“I attended Duke,” she gushed. “What department are you in?”
“Mathematics.”
“Oh, I could never do math.” She laughed and I smiled in what I hoped wasn’t a condescending manner. She looked me over for a few seconds. “What can I help you with today?”
“I understand that you’re in charge of the Sexual Misconduct Office.”
“That and a few dozen other things. This is a small college. We have to wear many hats. It’s not like Duke.”
I chose my words carefully. “I’m doing a study of harassment policies-on the side, of course-and I’d like to find out something about yours. I’ve heard it’s unique.”
“Oh, is Duke thinking of changing its policy?”
Be careful. I had only a vague idea of Duke’s current policy. “No. That is, not right away. I’m doing this pretty much on my own.”
“Well, let me give you a brief outline. The reason we implemented a new policy is because it was very difficult for a student to file charges of rape or similar abuse. We needed an approach that was more sensitive to the needs of the victims. When you say our policy is unique, it isn’t really. We have modeled it on those of several larger schools. But I believe that we’ve added several features that are logical extensions of the other policies. I like to think that we’re on the cutting edge.”
Said she, modestly, but as if she were reading from a script. I suspected her brief outline might go on for some time. Maybe I could shortcut the process.
“Can you give me an example of something that you’ve added?” I asked.
Ms. Estavez leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. “Well, one thing we decided is that the sexual harassment policy for students should apply equally to the faculty. We don’t want our students protected halfway. Faculty members are in a position of power and you know what they say about power corrupting. Our students come here, still innocent of the outside world-innocent and impressionable. A faculty member with the wrong attitude can do immeasurable damage to a student.”
I tried to remember how many students I had damaged in my career. I noticed that her words so far had been gender-neutral. I said, “It’s interesting that you’ve extended the policy to faculty members. Have you had occasion to use the policy with a faculty member yet?”
Ms. Estavez peered at me, but I had an innocent look on my face. “As a matter of fact, we had a complaint filed just this week. Of course, you understand that I can’t tell you any specifics about it. It’s a test case for us, to see how the policy works with regard to a faculty member. If we can nail this one, we’re on our way.”
“I’ve heard that the defendant isn’t allowed to confront his accuser or to cross-examine witnesses. Aren’t those provisions unconstitutional?”
Ms. Estavez looked at me sharply. “This is a private school. The constitution doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
The voice of the girl from the reception area spoke to Ms. Estavez from the doorway behind me: “Your 9:30 is here.”
“Thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I had one more thing to say before she dismissed me. “On my way over here I saw students carrying signs, apparently as part of a protest. The signs contained messages about harassment. The name Dr. Pappas was mentioned on some of them. Is Dr. Pappas the faculty member who is accused?”
Now Ms. Estavez looked at me with open hostility. She didn’t say anything.
“I guess my question is, if the harassment proceedings are confidential, how did the name of the defendant get to be public knowledge?”
She abruptly stood up. “This discussion is over,” she said.
I decided not to paste Ms. Estavez in the face, but to retreat as gracefully as I could. I stood up and offered her my hand across the desk, as I said, “Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Estavez. You’ve been very helpful.”
At first I thought she wasn’t going to shake hands with me, but I kept my hand out and kept a smile on my face. She resisted for a few seconds, but then she quickly shook my hand, sat down and started fiddling with some papers on her desk.
Feeling the thrill of a minor victory, I walked out the door and back down the hall to the reception area. There, standing at the counter and chatting with the receptionist, was Mark’s accuser. Like the first time I saw her, I didn’t have any doubt about her identity. She glanced at me without interest, but I took a good look at her.
Close up, she was striking. The vivid contrast between her dark hair, dark eyes and white face was enough to turn any man’s head. A touch of red on her lips added just enough color to the picture. I was sure she wasn’t wearing any other makeup. She had unzipped her synthetic jacket and I got a hint of a shapely body underneath, but I couldn’t tell specifics because of the bulkiness of the sweater she wore. However, her jeans were tight and skinny.
I had a sudden urge to ask her why she wanted to destroy Mark’s life. I hesitated in front of her. She looked at me again and it occurred to me that speaking to her here would blow any chance Mark had for redemption. But I almost couldn’t resist. I had to physically shake myself into moving again.
I headed out through the front doors of the Administration Building, knowing that Ms. Priscilla Estavez would shortly summon this girl into her office to plot the demise of Mark Pappas.
