A sour invitation

"You can leave that out here." Ms. Naylor says pointing to your well-traveled duffle as she steps into her inner office. Although there is a settee and armchair by the bay windows overlooking the Academy grounds. Ms. Naylor moves purposefully behind her desk leaving you a Spartan straight-backed wooden chair in front of her desk. If she hoped to make you uncomfortable, her stratagem failed; as a Marine you were far more accustomed to plain chairs than fancy couches.

"Very pleased to meet you Ma'am," you say with a careful smile as you sit down. There is no sign of her romance novel, but as she settles back in her upholstered wing-back chair you can't help but recall how you first saw her. Her blazer is tightly buttoned now, armor against her opponent in this battle for control of her school.

"I'm sure," she replies, and then there is a long pause.

She looks at you without expression for a moment then takes a deep breath as though to steady herself.

"Mr. Hawkfeather," you can see her roll your last name like a piece of strong liquorish in her mouth, but instead of asking you about it she continues brusquely, "if you find my attitude curt, you are correct. I am not in agreement with the decision to bring men into the faculty. The board of regents may believe that male teachers will have a positive influence, but I disagree." She takes a deep breath and narrows her eyes slightly. "I particularly disagree with the decision to renew the position of Dean of Students and fill it with a man without either my approval or even consent."

"Yes Ma'am, I can understand how that might seem."

"DO you?" Ms. Naylor lashed back. "Mr. Hawkfeather-" this time she does stop. "What kind of name is that anyway? Are you Native American or the child of some Hippies?" You've heard more than one variation of this question. People didn't feel comfortable with blond-haired blue-eyed men carrying around Indian names from bad 60's westerns.

"Only a quarter Shawnee, ma'am." You tell her refusing to let her attitude irritate you. "As for the name, that's what the recruiter decided to put on my grandfather's enrollment papers because he couldn't understand his real name."

"Your grandfather was in the army too then?" She asked, revealing that she knew at least a little about your history. "The Marines, yes Ma'am." You corrected her out of habit; no one in the Corps liked being confused with army men. "My grandfather volunteered the day after Pearl Harbor, spent the rest of the war in the Pacific Theater."

She looks at you with a hint of interest for a moment then takes a deep breath as though to steady herself and then continues where she left off.

"Mr. Hawkfeather, it has been my experience that men always assume they know better than I how to do my job." She pulls out a letter and scans it quickly, more for effect than because she needed to be reminded of your lack of qualifications. "As far as I can see Mr. Hawkfeather, your only experience with teaching was a three-year stint at Camp Pendleton instructing young men how to kill each other."

It is clear to you that, like 95% of the population, Ms. Naylor has no idea the qualifications needed to attend **** Recon training, not to mention what is required be an instructor of these elite forces. Instead of arguing, you nod your head one time.

"That's correct Ma'am."

More uncomfortable silence fills the room. She knows, as do you, that your qualifications are moot, the Board of Regents has exerted its authority and you are here, as she already noted, whether she likes it or not.

"Well let's not waste any more time." She selects a small stack of papers from the side of her desk and pushes them across the polished surface towards you. "The students will arrive tomorrow, although a few of them are already here. Monday there will be orientation meetings for students, sorted by grade. Here is the schedule. Classes begin on Tuesday. You will be using the computer lab for your two sections of Computer Science in addition to your duties as our new Dean." She pauses, apparently trying to decide if it was worth asking you if you had any idea what a computer was used for, but continues without further comment. "You will be housed in Faculty cottage 5. Here is the key."

"No Ma'am." You stop her, laying the key back on the empty desk. "I can't do my job stuck out in the cabins. I understand the Dean of Students' office comes with an attached living quarters ." The Headmistress makes no attempt to conceal the look of outrage on her face.

"That suite is in the 2nd year student dormitories! I will not allow a man to sleep under the same roof as my charges!"

"Ms. Naylor," You had expected a fight over this issue, and are as ready as you could be under the circumstances. "The Dean's suite is on the first floor of the Mellon building, unless you expect your students to wander down the stairs in their nighties, I'm sure their honor will be preserved." Actually, from your briefing at the Senator's estate, it sounds like many of the wilder students might come sauntering down those stairs wearing nothing at all, but there is no need to complicate the issue with this unproven assertion.

"Also, that suite will be adjacent to yours, and its location will make it easier for you to keep a close eye on me." She folds her hands primly on the desk in front of her and meets your eyes with a fierceness you could only admire.

"I intend to!"

Another long silence. "There will be a staff meeting tomorrow evening in the Faculty Lounge. Seven o'clock. And we have a dress code here at the Rose; you are expected to wear a dress shirt with a tie, no jeans. Understood?" You nod silently.

"Do you have a car?"

"No Ma'am, I ride a bike." You see the relief on her face. This might be the only good answer you have given during the entire interview.

You can leave your bicycle in any of the bike racks, it will be perfectly safe on campus."

"Not a bicycle, Ma'am. A motorcycle." You almost feel bad for the woman as she processes that bit of unpleasant information. You can see the lecture forming in the Headmistress' mind about not letting any of her students near the motorcycle and the licentious behavior that surely came with it - to your surprise she decides not to lecture you. You try again to make some peace.

"I understand your concern Ms. Naylor." You tell her. "I'll park it in the garage Ma'am and keep it there. I don't want the students near my bike any more than you do."

"I hope you do just that. I trust that you can behave in an appropriate manner even if some of the girls cannot." She sighs, looking at you with careful eyes. "You're a relatively young man, Mr. Hawkfeather and not unattractive. This may prove a distraction to some of our students. I trust that you will not exacerbate that factor." You see the return of a blush on her cheeks as you nod solemnly, the color really does improve her looks.

You did not share with her the last part of the conversation you had with Senator Williams; even you were not comfortable with what he had told you, and this proper woman would have a heart attack right here in her office if she knew what he said.

"I came here to do my job, Ms. Naylor. That's all."