Chapter 13

Pynchon proved a bear to speed read. ““Glean what you can,” Joe advised. “We’re just a third of the way through.”

“I figured,” said Liang. “You missed a week.”

“Yeah. I’ll probably have to just have one week for Vineland.”

“Or you could start the class a half hour earlier. And have the other class last a half hour longer.”

“First, we’re talking about college students.”

“With you, I bet they don’t mind.”

“I’ll ask. And the afternoon class actually tends to go on longer.”

“I’m not surprised. Should I slip out discreetly?”

“I don’t care. You’re not actually registered.”

“It’s probably too late to catch up,” she said. “But I’d like you to grade me fairly.”

“For the survey class, it’s a multiple choice and essay question test. A midterm, which we just finished before my missing a week, and a final. And class participation of course. And for Pynchon, two essays. On Crying of Lot 49, which came earlier, and Gravity’s Rainbow at the end of the term. Honing in on a chapter or a motif.”

“Like the lightbulb?”

“Yeah,” Joe chuckled.

They got back to work, both on Gravity’s Rainbow. Joe cleaning up his lecture notes.

About a half hour before class started, a pretty and voluptuous wavy haired brunette Jewish graduate student showed up, handing him notes and a paper and getting answers for her questions. She wore clothes that accentuated her figure. An open cardigan sweater and a form fitting blouse with some cleavage. And tight jeans. She obviously had a crush brewing.

“She wants you,” said Liang, who’d gotten a glare from the pretty woman.

“Not a good idea.”

“Jewish?”

He chuckled. “She looks better than she did.”

“She certainly dressed to look better.”

“She usually does.”

“You checked out her ass.”

He shrugged. “Definitely my type.”

“What isn’t?” she chuckled.

“Too skinny or too large. Flabby?”

“Mine’s not so firm.”

“Yours is perfect Yanhuo, just like rest of you,” he said. “Stop fishing for compliments or I’ll paddle it.”

“Would you?” she giggled.

He sighed. “That never does seem to work for punishment. Abstinence?”

“Please,” Liang muttered.

“Right. That would be punishment for me.”

“Definitely a lose lose,” she giggled.

Joe left his small cluttered office before Liang did. Liang calling and leaving a message at the publisher.

She decided after his lecture that Joe was her favorite teacher. In all things it seemed, bringing a giggle. But she felt, though biased, more than a few of her fellow students, especially the females, would agree. He had that confidence in spades that thrilled her. His ideas were excitingly insightful, and the way they were structured lured his audience to his conclusions. After well thought out and never condescending answers to questions, he asked his students if they’d be willing to start the class a half hour early, despite it being his fault. Having them raise their hands if they do, the vast majority raising them, he had those who didn’t raise their hands. A very few did.

“You hardly come to class anyway,” he pointed to one young man, which made the man blush and everyone else laugh. “Well, I didn’t expect such a majority of students wanting to get up even earlier. I know how I was. I won’t say I was like Mr. Schuyler there, but I won’t say I wasn’t.” More laughs. “But you see my dilemma. It seems it should be a consensus. What do you say?”

A boy raised his hand, among others. Joe pointed to him. “Mr. Hawkins?”

“Maybe...”

“Stand up, Jim,” Joe smiled.

“Uhm,” the young man stood and stuttered. “Uh. Maybe we could have ... some sort of ... uhm ... discussion?”

“So nothing on the test,” Joe chuckled. “Oh right. We don’t do tests in this class.”

“It’s just...” the young man continued. “I don’t think that anyone wants to miss out, you know? On your lectures?”

Applause. Joe teared up. “Jeez guys. Okay. All those against starting early with discussions raise their hand.” No one did. “Okay. See you guys at frigging 7:30. And I might be steering things quickly using them. Right. Go!”

As the students shuffled out, Liang asked her neighbor, who happened to be the advisor, “He’s really quite remarkable, isn’t he.”

“How do you know him?” the woman asked.

“He’s my husband.”

“I thought he was married to a little redhead.”

“Cheryl. Yeah. That’s legal. Ours isn’t. Not illegal, but...” she chuckled. “What’s your name?”

“Jennifer.”

“Li,” she raised her hand and Jennifer shook it. “Does he know the name of every student here?”

“Yeah.”

“Remarkable.”

“And he always seems to make eye contact with almost everyone.”

“I noticed that. You know he likes you, but he’s careful. Okay?”

“I guess it’s pretty obvious.”

“Hey. Believe me. I completely understand.”

“Hey,” said Joe, leaning down and kissing Liang. “Shouldn’t you be swinging that sweet tail to work?”

“Just wanted to meet Jennifer,” she smiled and pulled him into a longer kiss. “Gotta go. Nice meeting you, Jennifer.”

“You too, Li.”

“She seems nice,” said Jennifer as soon as the subject left.

“She’s amazing,” Joe replied.

“I never had a chance,” she muttered.

“No you didn’t. You’re a student. And my graduate assistant. But I have to admit sexy as all get out.”

“Thanks,” she blushed.

“Let’s head to my office and meet my fans,” he chuckled.

“Yes Joe.”

Those two words brought Joanne to Joe’s mind, making him harder than the beginning of erection Liang generated with her naughty kiss. He doubted the submissiveness would last beyond teacher/assistant, imagining a wilder encounter, with her encouraging him to give her what she wants. Probably from the back, doggy style so he could fuck hard and deep inside her, her young, full breasts resilient flesh handles for him to hold onto, erect nipples pressing at his palms. Her ass cheeks springing back to form after each blessed impact.

Taking a deep breathe, he brought his mind to less stimulating thoughts. Seeing the traces of his hard on would probably encourage her.

It didn’t surprise him that three students waited outside his office. One caught his attention. A lovely blonde with a lithe body. She looked to be wearing leotards, jeans covering the bottom part, the athletic ass still a shape to behold. Pert breasts pushed out at her chest with the slight protrusion of nipples. Lindy Riemer. He took another deep breath. School would always be a place of temptation to which he had resolved never to succumb.

Later, in a completely different office, one with abundant space and a large desk appropriate for the boss of bosses of Joe’s publishing house, Liang approached bravely the intimidating figure that owned the space sitting behind the imposing desk.

“What you want, kid?” Percival Jefferson grinned. Everyone either knew him as Mr. Jefferson or Jeff. He hated his first name.

“May I sit,” Liang smiled.

“Of course. Someone manning the station?”

“Carol in receiving. I needed to come in a little late, and she was there. I asked if she could stay a minute so I could talk to you.”

“You told her you were seeing me?”

“Yes.”

“How did she react?”

“Like I was a slave volunteering to face the lion.”

They both laughed.

“I heard Cassie was the one who insisted you be hired,” said Jeff.

“I enjoyed interviewing with her.”

“And she obviously enjoyed interviewing you. I have to say she made a good choice. I’ve never come in to such a genuine smile. Usually it covers up a bit of fear.”

“You definitely are an intimidating man.”

“Well, my wife insists I’m just a big old teddy bear.”

“Still a bear, with some bite, especially being the one who signs our checks.”

“Lynn does the signing, but I get your meaning. I know I have a presence and I come off gruff to people. I just don’t suffer fools, especially when they get in the way of the success of the company.”

“You’re a determined man. I get that. I respect that. I think your strength makes your company stronger. Although...”

“Although what?”

“An occasional pat on the back couldn’t hurt making the company better. Only those who deserve it.”

“Like who?”

“Cassie for one. I don’t know if you know how important she is to your company.”

“She’s Cal’s secretary,” he shrugged.

“She’s Cal’s spine, Mr. Jefferson. And the company’s heart.”

“Cal is...”

“I know. He’s a smart man. But he needs his spine.”

Jeff chuckled. “Anyone else.”

“I heard from Janis that Mr. Littleton has done much more than yeoman work for his writers. He ends up with the ones with fragile egos, taking personally any changes, but has a way to smooth things over. A most commendable skill. And probably why he ended up with them.”

“He does end up with the tough ones.”

“A pat on the back?”

“Maybe with a raise?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

He laughed. “I don’t know if they’ll cringe.”

“Probably, but they’ll get it, and be happily surprised.”

“I’ll give it some thought. So I suppose you’re not here to chat or give your boss advice.”

“Not to chat. Maybe advice. You know Joe ... uhm ... Mr. Solomon is a poet and playwright as well?”

“Joe’s fine. He’d insist. How’d that go?”

“What do you mean?”

“He said he wanted to chat you up.”

“It went well,” she blushed.

“That good?”

“Yeah.”

Jeff laughed. “Joe’s something else.”

“That he is. Anyway, have you ever thought of publishing his plays or poetry?”

“That’s not something we do.”

“I understand, but...”

“You know the original partners used to work at a literary magazine.”

“I didn’t.”

“That’s where they met. One got an inheritance. The better editor. The other was the salesman. Anyway they decided to start the company with the specific doctrine not to publish poetry. It became obvious to them that poetry is an exclusive, even elite thing. Even the best poetry never did as well as the worst pulp collections of stories. I basically signed up for that, agreeing completely. Even more now than ever. The exceptions, few and far between, are getting even more marginalized these days.”

“I understand. I spent four years studying literature and never cracked a poetry book until I started Joe’s class.”

“At Hunter?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re going to use our program for advanced learning.”

“I’m just sitting in now. It’s too late to get credit, or probably even pass the class, but I hope to start up working towards my masters. Probably gradually. But I figured any addition to my knowledge of literature couldn’t hurt.”

“That’s the point. He any good?”

“I think he’s the best I’ve ever experienced.”

“Biased?”

“Yeah, but I think he really is that good. So, yeah, I completely understand your reluctance. I mean I have read poetry, but just Leaves of Grass, some of last century’s French poets like Rimbaud and Baudelaire, and a few Beats. Some classic Chinese as part of my heritage. But I was thinking, if you do that imprint...”

He laughed. “So Joe told you about that.”

“Yeah. I guess it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I thought so too. I am going to do it. With...”

“Mr. Carlton Fitzsimmons.”

“How did you know?”

“Joe mentioned having my mentor be the company asshole. It seemed fairly apparent.”

“He’s definitely an annoying git. Just competent enough, but...”

“Thinks he’s a whole lot better.”

“Yeah. How long have you worked here?”

“This is my third week.”

“Remarkable.”

“Thanks.”

“But no. I really do like the idea of finding something more challenging and even a little dangerous and controversial to publish in a separate imprint. Hopefully if you do well, it could prove prestigious like Joe suggested.”

“I’ll do all I can to make that happen.”

“I bet you will, kid. But I’m sticking to my guns. Strictly prose.”

“It was worth asking.”

“Of course. You should talk to Joanne, Joe’s sort of agent/manager.”

“I know Joanne.”

“Good. You know Joe actually kept all that hidden from me.”

“Why?”

“He thought someone with a reputation as a poet or a playwright would bring skepticism when he started writing novels. And he’s right. I didn’t find out until after we signed him.”

“How come?”

“You know he goes by another name for those.”

“Oh yeah. He did tell me that.”

“He actually kept it pretty separate until recently. When he got too big to hide. A feature in the New Yorker outed him. The woman tracked him down to Minneapolis.”

“Morpheus,” Liang nodded.

“Yeah. That’s his company. Not that he worked that hard to hide it.”

“What do you mean?”

“His nom de plume.”

“He didn’t say.”

“Saul Loman.”

“A tall Jewish writer from Minnesota with the same name as the last name of a tall Jewish writer from Minnesota,” Liang chuckled.

“Kind of hiding in plain sight,” Jeff chuckled as well. “We needed a complete bio on our client, or we’d probably never would have known until the New Yorker.”

“Let me guess. He insisted you keep that out of the sleeve bios and promotions.”

“Yeah. Fine by me,” he laughed. “But I believe he’s at a point where it doesn’t matter.”

“I agree. I’ll talk to Joanne.”

“You do that. And how about getting back to work, kid.”

“Yes sir.”

She got up and instead of leaving immediately, came around the desk and grabbed his hands. “Up boss,” she insisted. He stood and she embraced him. “You really are a big teddy bear,” she said against his chest.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, embracing her. “You should go before Lynn sticks her nosy nose into the office.”

“Yes boss.”

“Call me Jeff in private.”

“Thanks Jeff.” They separated.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you.”

“You’re welcome,” she giggled.

When she got home that evening, she greeted her wives and Essie with hugs and kisses. Essie asked, “Can you come up and hang out?”

“I’d love to, but I’m kind of busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“I’m sort of monitoring Joe’s classes.”

“Oh wow. I should have done that.”

“He tries not to fraternize with his students.”

“But you...”

“Just monitoring,” Liang explained. “I started mid-term, so there’s no way I could catch up.”

“How is he?”

“Brilliant.”

“Of course.”

“Where is he?”

“In his office,” said Cheryl. “We’re having sandwiches delivered, after cooking a feast yesterday. What’s your preference?”

“Roast beef. You know I could cook a meal or two. I make a pretty mean beef and broccoli.”

“Make it tofu and broccoli and it’s a deal,” said Cheryl. “Moe’s a vegetarian.”

“I use fish sauce.”

“Fish is my exception,” said Moe.

“But not crustaceans, right Moe,” Cheryl smirked.

“Like keeping Kosher?” Liang asked.

“Like getting wasted in New Orleans on ‘shrooms and freaking out that the pile of crawdads look like giant bugs,” Cheryl giggled.

“Yeah,” Moe shrugged. “Lobsters are the scariest,” she trembled. But laughed with everyone else.

“Tofu it is,” Liang grinned. “I should...”

“What’s the hurry, as if I don’t know,” Cheryl chuckled.

“It’s not that. I’ll tell you or Joe will depending what he thinks. Okay?”

“Of course. Just giving you shit.”

“I know,” Liang laughed and darted away.

“Joe,” she exclaimed breathlessly. She’d run up two flights of stairs.

“Yanhuo,” he grinned, stood, embraced her and kissed her. “I guess I did miss you.”

“Me too,” she said, separating reluctantly. “Sit.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he chuckled and sat. She sat on the desk.

“I talked to Jeff this morning,” she started.

“Jeff hunh?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. He’s a good man.”

“He is. He said I could call him Jeff in private. I don’t know when that will be.”

“When you become editor for one. But his wife, Henrietta has amazing cocktail parties for the clients and top staff. She’s a stunning older woman and a great hostess. He’ll be Jeff there.”

“I’d be invited?”

“Of course. I’m a client aren’t I? My wives always join me, at pain of death.”

“They’re that good?”

“Like old fashioned cocktail parties. Like stepping back into the days of elegant soirees. Sounds kind of stiff, but they’re really cool.”

“I can’t imagine Jeff in a tux,” Liang giggled.

“Believe it or not, he enjoys it as much or more than any of us. Partly because he gets to show off his wife, whom he very much loves. Partly because he enjoys the high level of discourse that the setting seems to bring out. Everyone breaks out their wit.”

“When’s the next one?”

“The beginning of winter. She’s a bit of a pagan, so they’re celebrations of solstices and equinoxes.”

“So the bosses version of a Christmas party.”

“Nope. Not about Christmas, except as stolen from the pagans. Cassie organizes an office party, so the editors can get drunk and embarrass themselves. Of course the writers come get drunk too.”

“Anyway,” Liang started again, “I visited Jeff because I wanted to ask him about publishing your poetry and plays.”

“And he said no.”

“He did. He suggested talking to Joanne.”

“You should do it.”

“Really?” she grinned.

“Yeah. Joanne’s been hinting at it for years. At least the poetry. I just...”

“Didn’t see the point?”

“I guess. It would almost seem like a vanity.”

“Let me read them. If they’re as good as I think they will be, it wouldn’t be vanity. It would present the world the aspects of Joe Solomon that they might just want to know.”

“You should do it, Yanhuo.”

“I’ll call Joanne...”

“She’ll help find a publisher, but you should put them together. I’ll give you the magazines I’ve published in, some poems I haven’t published but kind of like. All my plays are there,” he pointed to a shelf of manuscripts bound like thesis papers. “There’s photo documentation of the shows. Caroline took most of them, so there won’t be a problem getting permission.”

“Caroline?”

“A very beautiful former model. I mean Esther beautiful. She’s an incredible photographer.”