Category:
Romance
Type: Fiction
All her life, Angelina Mauzy has been drawn to the carnival. As an undergraduate, she takes up anthropology as an outlet for her obsession and finds herself studying under a man who has been where she longs to go. They fall into a passionate affair, but as her journey leads her to the carnival Angelina is torn between her academic pursuits and the strange new world that challenges her in ways she never imagined.
***
Sitting in the back row desk of a classroom in McComsey Hall—the Millersville University social sciences building—Angelina checked her watch.
8:12.
The elusive Doctor Kane was running late.
Leaning back against cool plastic, she crossed her arms and sighed—feeling rather unimpressed by her newly appointed advisor’s aptitude for courtesy. Or lack of aptitude. She had long ago decided he was a man of exceptional talents. Timeliness evidently wasn’t one of them, nor was the ability to return a phone call. Or three.
“Fifteen minute rule,” a fellow anthropology major seated in front of her said. He stretched his arms lethargically over his head and turned back toward her.
Angelina blinked.
“What?”
“If he doesn’t show in the first 15 minutes of the hour, we’re free to leave without penalty.”
A girl next to him asked,
“Penalty? What is this, a hockey game?”
Several of Angelina’s classmates laughed. Soon the room was abuzz with chatter in which Angelina did not participate. She remained quiet with her eyes on the door, waiting. Seething.
Maybe it was a dream.
She glanced at her watch again.
8:14. If Kane wasn’t careful, he was going to lose them.
Promptly at 8:15, the student with a hockey player’s heart rose from his desk.
“Ding, ding!” he announced to the room. “Time’s up!”
Tucking his glistening new text book under his arm, he turned in the direction of the door. He was about to begin his grand exit when he was stopped by the sudden appearance of Hollis Kane. The latter gave him a look that was severe enough to put him back in his seat before a word was spoken. Then Kane asked,
“Is this Ethnographic Methods?”
“Depends,” the young man said. “Are you Doctor Kane?”
“The one and only.”
“Then it is, and you’re late.”
Looking considerably relieved, Kane swept into the room. As she watched him approach his desk and drop his laptop, followed by a thermos of coffee, Angelina made three crucial observations:
#1: His frantic state suggested he meant to be on time, but was waylaid for a reason beyond his control.
#2: A large wet stain that began on the front of his pants and spread south toward his knees hinted that the reason was a good one.
#3: He was—indisputably—the man she’d seen on the bench in the rain. She would recognize those green eyes anywhere.
Venturing a glance around her, Angelina also noted that the eyes of her classmates were fixed on the stain and his clumsy motions as he opened his case and rummaged through it. That could only mean one thing. He was real after all. Along with this revelation came a rush of relief—or gladness.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” he informed them as he withdrew a text book and yellow notepad from his case. The search didn’t end there. He continued to rifle through the bag until he came across a folded sheet of plain white paper. Then, zipping case shut, he looked up at the class with a dimpled smile.
“Welcome to Ethnographic Methods.”
Bally, Angelina thought with Kane’s book in mind.
Building the tip, or “crowd.” Get their attention. Draw them in.
At the front of the room, Kane continued,
“If you’re in this room, it means you have chosen to follow the intriguing and gratifying path of cultural anthropology. And by follow, I don’t mean stopping when they hand you a paper in the spring and you turn your tassels. I mean you want to follow it through to the end, all the way through Masters to PhD. It’s gotten into your blood somehow. You want to read all the books and learn all the theories. You want to write your own theories. You’ve probably already dreamed some up. You want to get mud between your toes and feel sunlight hit you from that magical place we call ‘the field.’ Enrapturing, isn’t it? The very word! It can mean anything from the tattoo parlors of Brooklyn to a tribal group in the African bush.”
He paused to draw a drink from his thermos of coffee. Then he walked around the desk and leaned against the front of it, his arms crossed. He regarded his students with a level stare—as though giving his words time to sink in and waiting for the excitement to start sparkling in their eyes.
The pitch, Angelina thought, leaning forward with her chin propped on her fist.
Step right up, folks! You have to see it to believe it! Through this door are wonders you’ve only dreamed of, laid out now for you to behold—
Kane pushed honey colored hair away from his face and went on. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“What does the field mean to you? It means something different to all of us. If you aren’t sure, you’ll know soon enough. In this class, you’ll get your first taste of it. You’re going to venture into your own vision of the field, and you’re going to interview people. You’re going to get acquainted with their lives. You’re going to write about them. Your grade will be based upon the quality of the work you do. My job is to give you the proper tools and guidance. But it’s what is done with those tools that will separate the diamonds from the rough.”
His voice trailed off.
Turning the tip. Make the pitch then call them to action. It’s yours for the taking, folks—you just have to buy the ticket!
Angelina was already sold.
“Any questions so far?” Kane asked.
The room was silent—a collection of wide-eyed, wide-mouthed anthropology students with hearts beating wildly to get started.
“Alright,” Kane said, and unfolded the white sheet in his hand. “Let’s get the roll call out of the way and get started. We’ve already fallen 15 minutes behind the syllabus schedule.”
Fill them up with urgency. Move quickly, folks! Soon, it’ll all be gone.
The jam.
A knowing smile turned at the corners of Angelina’s lips. He was good.
The roll call was in alphabetical order by last name. Kane read the names without patience—rushing through the mere formality in order to get to the meat. He barely glanced up as students raised their hands to indicate their presence. Then he checked them off the list and went on the next name. It wasn’t until he reached Angelina that this hurried pace staggered.
“Mauzy, Angelina—”
More than a glance this time, he looked up into the sea of faces—his voice trailing off as if he already knew her. But then, after three messages, he should know her. Angelina lifted her hand with a mix of devotion and defiance. He located her quickly, and their eyes met.
He held her gaze for a moment—long enough for Angelina to know he remembered her from more than her messages. He recognized her as the wild thing that kept him still at the pond that day. He looked at her now like they were back there, holding each other’s eyes through the falling rain. Then he looked away.
When class ended at 8:50, Angelina waited for the other students to file out of the room before standing to make her own exit. As she approached, Kane waited for her at the front of the room—still leaning casually against his desk. He regarded her with a mix of caution and amusement.
“Good to see you dry,” he said flatly.
With a suggestive glance at his pants, she countered,
“I wish I could say the same for you.”
Unembarrassed, Kane laughed. Angelina did not laugh with him.
“You never returned my phone calls.”
He nodded.
“That’s true, and I must apologize. It’s been hectic getting settled in and—”
Angelina wasn’t interested in excuses, and she promptly cut him off.
“When would be a good time to meet?”
Kane studied her for a few beats as if reassessing his opinion of her. Then, seeing her directness, he raised it.
“Does now suit?”
She held his gaze.
“Now suits fine.”
“Good.”
He turned and slid his text book and note pad into the laptop carrying case, then he shouldered it. Turning back to her, he asked,
“Buy you a cup of coffee?”
The blowoff. A little something extra for a slightly higher price.
He was better than she thought.
|
