At that stage, however, most of us were used to investigations. Though it was a bit intimidating getting The Call, most of us had learned to pass it off as part of the modern landscape. Having been interviewed a couple of times in cases relating to Walt, I was actually used to it, and I had no reason to believe this would be any different. All the same, I did not know Leslie Blackwell and decided to check her out through the university website the evening before our appointment. I discovered she was an acting director and new to campus that fall, complete with a doctor’s degree in law. I recall thinking that might not be a good thing for Walt, and my first impression of Dr Blackwell the following morning confirmed it.
Leslie Blackwell was a beautiful woman, thus had endured more than her fair share of unwelcome advances. Young enough to want to nurture her career, entrenched enough in bureaucratic matters that she had confidence, she would be, I thought, the kind to confront threats of legal action head-on, and take Walt through every hoop, from complaint to early retirement. Poor Walt.
I had it figured almost perfectly. In fact, I only missed the object of Dr Blackwell’s new passion in life.
She placed me at the side of her rather imposing desk, smiled prettily and wasted no time informing me that two of my students, Denise Conway and Johnna Masterson, had charged me with sexual harassment.
While I tried to fathom what in the world had precipitated a complaint, Dr Blackwell informed me that it was her job to investigate, that she needed to ask me a few questions in an attempt to verify the statements of the two women, and that I should be aware that sexual harassment was a federal crime, punishable by imprisonment in a federal facility.
Leslie Blackwell’s queries came with all of the subtlety of a concussion grenade. Did I sometimes use the phrase bodacious ta-tas to describe female breasts? Of course not. Was I in the habit of talking about talent when I meant the woman had large breasts? Not at all. Had Denise Conway ever been in my office? Certainly. Did I talk about how much I liked her hair? I had commented on it once, as I recalled. Had we talked about the possibility of her dancing in the nude while I watched? Once, I believe. Maybe a couple of times.
I found myself crossing my legs and settling my hands squarely in my lap at this point. I expect Leslie Blackwell got that from a lot of men.
Had I ever been to a bar called Caleb’s with Denise Conway? Yes. Had we ever discussed the kind of movies she liked to see? Yes. Had I invited Johnna Masterson to my house? Yes. Had I invited other students? Of course. Had I ever told Buddy Elder I thought Johnna Masterson had extraordinary talent? I had. Had Johnna presented to the class a story called ‘Sexual Positions?’
Yes. Which was about underage sex? Yes. Was oral sex involved? A couple examples of it, as I recalled, neither to completion. Had I told the class it was delightful? No. I said it was funny as hell.
Did I refer to it, Johnna’s story, in later classes by title? I had. Had I talked to Walt Beery about Johnna Masterson’s breasts? The topic came up. Had the word, and excuse her please for being so blunt, tits come up? Yes, it usually did when I talked with Walt. And bodacious ta-tas? Walt said tits, I said the other. She scribbled excitedly. Hadn’t I denied using that word?
No. I wasn’t in the habit of using it. But sometimes I did use it?
‘Use what?’
‘The term bodacious ta-tas.’ It actually looked like it hurt her to say the word.
‘Depends,’ I said, doing my best Bill Clinton, ‘on how one defines sometimes.’
More notes. Had I tried to get Denise Conway to give up her job as a dancer, promising her I would arrange to get her something on campus in Work Study?
I said I had made a call to Work Study to help her set up an appointment. Had I ever asked Denise about her relationship with Buddy Elder? Yes. Did I ask if they lived together? Yes. Had I inquired about their living expenses, who paid for what? Yes. Had I ever suggested that Buddy Elder was in trouble in my class?
No. Had I asked her if the men she slept with were all pigs? Yes. Had I made jokes to Denise Conway about adultery? Yes. Incest? No. Had I told my class that in the Old Testament adultery applied only to married women, that married men sleeping with unmarried women committed no sin whatsoever? Yes.
Had I called it the Golden Age of Patriarchy? Guilty.
Had I ever made jokes about homosexual monkeys?
‘Chimps.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Homosexual chimps,’ I said, ‘tossing quarters on the shower floor.’
After a moment of murderous contemplation, Dr Blackwell asked me if I thought such humour was appropriate?
‘Seemed so at the time.’
When Leslie Blackwell had finished her questions, she capped her ink pen and gave me a cool gotcha smile. ‘I should tell you you’re entitled to legal representation.’
‘I guess you should have told me that before you asked your questions.’
‘This is just a preliminary investigation, Mr Albo.
If the charges have any validity, I will forward them to the vice president for academic affairs, and he will conduct a formal inquiry.’
‘What exactly are the charges?’
Dr Blackwell blinked as if talking to an idiot. ‘Sexual harassment.’
‘Sexual harassment involves unwanted sexual advances, bargaining sex for a grade, that kind of thing. Are you saying I did that?’
‘I’m not saying you did anything at this point. I’m simply looking at the complaints as they were filed.’
‘May I see the complaints?’
‘The actual complaints are part of my work product at this point.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that material is not available to you until I’ve completed my investigation.’
I wanted to kill Buddy Elder, but the moment I left Leslie Blackwell’s office I had more pressing concerns. I called our lawyer and told her what had happened.
‘I want to know what the charges are, and they’re refusing to provide me with copies of the complaints.’
‘Give me the name,’ Gail Etheridge answered. I did, and Gail told me she would take care of it.
I thought about going to Walt Beery, if only to gather courage from the voice of experience, but I decided there was an outside chance that Leslie Blackwell would actually keep the investigation confidential, as that was university policy.
The following Monday, four days after my interview, Dean Lintz called me into his office. He shut the door and sat down behind his desk. ‘What the hell is going on, Dave?’
‘You tell me,’ I said.
‘Leslie Blackwell in Affirmative Action informs me that two of your students have brought charges against you.’
‘What kind of charges?’
‘Sexual harassment. Look, don’t play the innocent with me. I know you’ve been told what’s going on.’
‘Do you have the complaints?’
‘Of course not. That’s confidential.’
‘Then why are we talking?’
‘There’s some concern that you will attempt to approach some of the witnesses. Dr Blackwell wants you to understand that any attempt to talk to anyone involved in the investigation will result in your immediate suspension.’
‘Who are the people involved?’
‘She says you have that information. You want to be careful, David. There’s a general feeling that Affirmative Action hasn’t done a good job for quite a while. That’s why they brought Blackwell in. People want to see her take somebody down, and she knows it.’
I gave Dean Lintz a relaxed smile. At least it was meant to be relaxed. ‘Wrong man, wrong case.’
‘For your sake, I hope you’re right. But try to show some restraint. Who tells jokes about gay monkeys in the classroom?’
‘So you’ve seen the complaints?’
Dean Lintz shook his head irritably. ‘I told you no.
