Dr. Cherise Owens stood by her office window and surveyed the quad. It
was a beautiful spring day. Violet irises bloomed in flower beds next to
opening yellow and red tulips. The sweet aroma of freshly mowed grass drifted
through the partially open casement. She inhaled deeply and hoped the light breeze
would carry her through the busy day ahead. She would be interviewing new
professors for one open position in the Sociology Department. Rats. She’d have to sit through a lunch
with Department Chair candidate Dr. Jack Strand; the author of that awful book,
When Adam was a Man.
“Dr. Owens,” her secretary said as she stuck her head into
the University President’s office. “It’s 11:45. You wanted to walk over to the
Oak Room.”
“Love the Oak Room. Dread this lunch,” Cherise moaned as she
collected her keys and small cross-body purse.
“I know,” Dee Dee sympathized. “Focus on the food and less on
the fool.”
“Dee Dee, you’re not calling our esteemed colleague and
candidate for a faculty position, Dr. Jack Strand, a fool are you?”
“Me?” the secretary denied with her hand to her chest. “Never.”
“But, if you were,” the President smiled coyly, “I would
agree.”
Cherise walked out the door and turned her chin upward, bathing
her face in sunlight. It could not have been a more glorious day. Her heels
clicked along the sidewalk, prompting a desire to dance, but she resisted the
temptation. Strong willed, she never gave into silly immature thoughts that
crossed her mind. Still, she was dancing in her head as she arrived at the University
Restaurant door, side-stepping in rhythm to her internal music, and went in.
Alfred Newday, the Dean of Students, waved from a white cloth-covered
table to the left. Alfred stood, pulling out the chair beside him. Cherise would
sit next to a man who looked like the image on his book jacket. She was
disappointed when she saw he was even more handsome than his picture. Rats. As Cherise got to the table, Jack
Strand stood up.
Facing eye to eye, she came into contact with warmth that set
her toes on fire. She couldn’t hide her attraction to him and more’s the pity,
Dr. Strand noticed and smiled.
“You must be Jack Strand,” she said as she tried to play it
lightly.
“Since no one else wanted the part, then, yes I must be he,”
Strand continued to smile like a cat that just trapped the house mouse.
“A sense of humor,” she declared to the other three at the
table. Besides the Dean, two professors from the Sociology Department joined
them for lunch. “Humor will please the students.”
“Then . . . I’m hired?” Strand asked, still smiling, still
teasing.
Assistant Professor Scrimshire looked at Strand with
surprise. “Well then, if no one cares, I’d like to eat before we adjourn.”
“We’re not in that much of a hurry,” Dr. Owens announced with
her hand held up to slow down the meeting.
“Would you like the usual Tuesday special?” the server asked
the President.
Cherise looked up at the waitress and avoided Strand. “Yes,
that’s fine. Thanks.”
Scrimshire and the other professor ordered the chicken salad
plate; the Dean chose a spinach and ham quiche. Strand looked around the table
and ordered BBQ pork with mashed potatoes and fresh corn.
As the waitress stepped away, Strand mused aloud, “Ah, another
one who needs to control life. I’ll bet Mr. Cherise Owens has a hard time with
that.”
“You have a dangerous interview style for someone applying
for a job at an institution where people actually think before they speak,”
Owens responded politely yet firmly.
Scrimshire glared. “Bob Owens died three years ago, from
complications following his injuries at the Boston Marathon bombing. He was an
accomplished runner.”
“I am so sorry,” Jack said, touching Cherise’s hand as it
rested on the table. “Sometimes I forget and actually believe my reputation.”
“The young men who take your class need a strong male figure
here at the university. That’s why we’re interviewing you,” Dr. Owens
explained, still unable to look at Strand without exposing her attraction to
him.
“Ah yes, the wussification of American men.”
“I happen to agree with you, Dr. Strand,” Dr. Owens agreed. “My
husband was a real man. He was strong enough to stand in the gap between our
home and the world, and gentle enough to make me feel loved every day of our
marriage.”
“And, you miss that,” Jack whispered as the server brought a
pot of coffee to the table. “Cherise means darling.”
Cherise didn’t respond. However, the warmth of his
understanding filled her with a revived joy. “Have you never heard of sexual harassment,
Dr. Strand?” she whispered back. As she poured coffee into her cup, she
continued, including everyone in the conversation. “I think this committee
wants to know something far more current than if Adam was a man or a wimp. Some
young men know only two extremes – sissy and control freak. What do you have to
add to their edification so they can hit a happy medium?”
Jack Strand sat back and grinned as the server placed a plate
filled with BBQ pork and a mound of white potatoes in front of Cherise Owens. “You’re
my kind of girl,” he said. “You appreciate real food.”
The sweet tangy smell of the BBQ sauce rose like a cloud over
the table. When the server put Strand’s order down, Cherise smiled but chose to
avert his eyes. “I guess you can make a few wise choices after all.”
“That’s fine,” the Dean added. “But, I’d still like an answer
to Dr. Owens’ question.”
“What question is that?” Strand asked with a blank expression.
Cherise turned and looked Strand square in the eyes. “If you
were hired as Chair of the Sociology Department, what would you teach your
students, especially the young men, about being strong and yet not controlling?”
Jack Strand focused his gaze on Cherise, as if there were no
others at the table. “I would teach them to be in control of themselves and not
dominate others. They would learn that it’s the greatest joy to encourage
others to be the very best ‘them’ they can be. They would know that control and
love are mutually exclusive. One cannot control another and love them at the
same time. True love is the only goal in life worth pursuing and when one finds
it, it will define their life. That is the meaning of being a real man.”
Cherise groaned inside. “I fear we may have some challenging
faculty meetings in the next few years . . . if we hire you, Dr. Strand.”
“But, they would be the most exciting meetings of your career,”
Jack said as their eyes met.
Rats! She whispered.
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