Chapter 25: The Hot Seat

Dean Summers knocked on the door to my office in the graduate building. This was rare – so rare, it had never happened before. In fact, Joe had never seen the man except in his office or at one of the many receptions for visiting dignitaries. The Dean did not walk the halls to engage in casual conversations. Joe had a bad feeling.

“Good morning, Joe. How’s the Residential MBA Program going?”

“Errr, fine ... I think. The students tell me they’re enthusiastic about it and everyone seems to be getting straight-A’s in all their classes, not just mine. Our in-house seminars and discussion groups have perfect attendance, and our summer internships went well from both the student side and the corporate side.”

Despite his ‘party line’ short speech, Joe knew with almost certainty that this was not why the Dean was there.

“I’ve heard via the rumor mill that you’ve had some great parties at Colburn House.”

Joe had the image of a bomb being released from the bomb bay doors of a large World War II aircraft. The bomb was wobbling away from the plane in the air, and the explosion was yet to come, but it would come. Joe realized he was the target.

Joe stuttered, “Errr, yes, the group has been quite social as well as academic. Other than our own get-togethers we’ve only had two parties – what we called the Halfway Party when the students were at the mid-point working for their degrees, and then the Halloween Party a week or so ago. We involved some outsider guests in those shindigs.”

The Dean allowed his reading glasses to slide down his nose, and he looked sternly at Joe over the top of them. “I heard that they got ... naughty – I guess that’s as good a word as any. I also heard that there’s a holiday party at the end of the semester.”

Joe responded honestly. He’d take one for the team. “We used the term risqué for our behavior. I take full responsibility for what happened at both parties. I was there, participated willingly, and did nothing to discourage what happened. Everyone seeming to be having a great time and was happy, for sure.”

The Dean changed tactics. “Is it true that Professors Sulks and Wolf now live in Colburn House with you and the students?” His voice was more curious than angry or any other emotion.

“Yes, sir. Part time, since we have the space on our new lower level in the house. They’ve been invaluable in sharing their expertise and ideas in our seminars and discussion groups.” The last part was BS, but he had to add that. The bomb was nearing its earthly target – my ass was grass, and we both knew it.

The Dean nodded knowingly and added, “And they were also at the parties?”

“Yes, sir; although we didn’t keep tabs on each other. Since the program is mine, and since I’m the one that claimed Colburn House for the program, the responsibility for anything that happens there is all mine. I assume by your presence that something is wrong?”

The Dean waved dismissively in the air, “You know, one measure of success of any special program on campus is whether it attracts favorable alumni attention or favorable responses from donors and sponsors and corporations. We consider money a good indication of what they’re thinking and or that they like what they’re hearing.”

Joe looked puzzled, but nodded. “Yes ... sir.”

“Just so you know, your Residential MBA Program received a ten-million-dollar donation this morning, urging the College – me, specifically – to ensure that it continues, including the outstanding social life accompanying the program. The donor apparently said they thought that the mix of the academic and social life in your program was that outstanding. That’s what prompted me to tap into the rumor mill regarding you, the program, and Colburn House.”

“Yes, sir. That sounds very good, sir.” Joe thought the bomb was now only feet from the target. Then he thought, ‘Oh, my God, could the bomb be a dud? Might it not explode after all?’

“Don’t ‘sir’ me, please. In fact, I prefer to be called by my first name and to be on a collegial basis with you and the others in the school. Phil, please.”

“Yes, Phil.” It still came across as ‘yes, sir’. Joe was slowly regaining some confidence that this conversation wasn’t the disaster it seemed a moment ago.

The Dean said, “I’ll want to talk with you about how you might like to use that money in your program and possibly the donor’s relationship with the whole college. I have some ideas, especially for some special visits, special visitors, trips, and even internships with international corporations out of the country. I also have some ideas for how to expand the program with what might be called ‘visitations’ by regular MBA students.

“In the meanwhile, try to keep somewhat of a lid on your residential social programs and parties. We don’t want to have some scandal splattered across the pages of the Boston Globe or any other publication or media outlet. That statement is not to imply that you can’t have the planned parties and any others you think up. Just ... be careful.”

“Thank you, Phil. I’ll share your recommendation and ... admonishment with everyone in the house.” Joe had found himself standing facing the Dean, almost at attention, and he’d never been in the military. At first, he thought he was facing a firing squad. The encounter had made him feel like he was being dressed-down by some drill sergeant at Paris Island.

“Good. Have Tiffany talk to my secretary to set up a time to meet next week.”

“I will. Very good, Si ... Phil.”

The Dean walked away after waving goodbye. Joe checked the floor around the desk to be sure he hadn’t pissed his pants and left a large puddle. Fuck, the Harbridge College administration knew about the sex parties at Colburn House. Joe took a few moments with his head pushed hard again the side of his bookcase. He decompressed from the cannon shot of stress he’d endured as he waited for the bomb to explode and destroy him and all of Colburn House. The Dean knew and did nothing other than to tell them to be careful.

Joe thought about that. He guessed it really did mean to hold the parties in a way that they didn’t attract anybody with a nose for news. Also, he was nonplused that some donor had given so much money to ‘his’ program – his specific program. What was that about? Who would do that? He had no alumni yet, and figured that none of his students were close to being rich enough to give away that much money.

Joe had a story to tell at dinner that night. Since it was Friday, everyone was there and eager to participate in one of their weekend evening love orgies. There were even some new faces in the group ever since the Halfway Party.

As the end of dinner neared, Joe tapped on his glass with his spoon and stood. “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. This is important, please.” Even Marjorie was surprised at his interruption.

“I had a surprise visit from Dean Summers this afternoon. He came to me, which I’m not sure how to interpret, but I don’t think it was good. The gist of his visit was to inform me that he, at least, is aware that our last two parties were well-attended highly risqué events with minimal clothing and maximum interactions. He called them ‘naughty’. He asked the we, and I quote, ‘Be Careful’, and to be sure we keep what’s going on out of the news media. To tell the truth, I’m not sure whether we change anything or not about our Holiday Party and beyond. He knew about the Holiday Party and said to still hold it. Like last year, Marjorie and I were going to host the party at our regular home.”

There was a flurry of questions that Joe answered. The group was surprised that the rumor mill knew what was going on, more or less.

Joe also mentioned that a large donation to the Residential MBA Program had been given, but he didn’t know by whom or whether there were restrictions. He’d know more in a week or so when he again met with the Dean about possible uses of the donation. Joe said, “The Dean wants suggestions about what to do with the money, so if you have ideas for how to spend several million dollars for this program wisely, please pass them on to me. Email is best for this part of things so I can print them out for use in our meeting.”

Again, there was some discussion and oohing and ahhing about the amount of money in the donation.

Joe noticed a serious frown on Marjorie’s face. Her mental engine had revved up to full speed as she thought about some of the things he’d said. She was not one to hold anything back, so he knew he’d soon learn of any concern she had.

After dinner coffee was served in carafes. Joe watched as Marjorie shot up from the table and headed into their apartment leaving the door open, as usual. She had her cellphone to her ear and was obviously initiating a call to someone. She carried the frown, but at least it looked like one more based on uncertainty than anger or anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, Marjorie came back looking more relaxed. Joe was talking with Alisha about using some the grant to bring more minority students into the program. She had some great ideas, so he’d started taking notes on his phone.

Marjorie sat down and grinned. She announced, “I know who donated the money for your program.”

Joe looked surprised. “Who?”

“Ron Downey. I just talked to him.”

“Wow! What ... why... ?”

“His first interaction with us was at the Halfway Party in August. He’s come back a couple of times since, as you know, and then was a clown at the Halloween Party two weeks ago. He likes you, me – certainly, and everyone he met. He likes the college, and he thinks you have a handle on turning out MBAs that really know something unlike some of the turn-the-crank programs at some of the other schools around here. The company he recently bought also happened to host an intern from here this summer, and that person made a few suggestions that saved the company several tens of millions of dollars.”

“Oh, my God. Who was it?”

“You’ll laugh. It was Morgan. He’ll tell me the details the next time I see him.”

Joe said, “So, he just plunks down ten-million, like that?”

“I guess so. He might have been blowing smoke up my arse, but I’m sure he wants to keep seeing me. I’m not worried about him trying to steal me away from you, but I do think he likes my pussy. I think this is partly his way of maintaining a gateway to help make that happen.”

“Hey, he can’t have you. I love you.”

“I love you, and he can’t have me ... but I can and have been very nice to him. Even in just talking to him, I reminded him that you were willing to share, but you weren’t discarding or giving me away. He understands, I think. He likes some of the others around here, too. As I recall Tiffany polished him off at the Halloween party; he ended the night in her sweet little pussy.”

Joe said, “I wonder if he was the source of the information about our ‘naughty’ parties that the Dean seemed to know about?”

“Could be. Ron is a consummate networking guy. He’s on the phone all the time, talks to everyone, loves to meet new people and make connections. If he set out to meet the top levels at Harbridge College, my guess is that it’d only take him an hour or so to be best buddies with every one of the trustees and all of the deans.”

“How do I thank him?”

“Bring him in under the tent. I invited him to come over tonight with the clear expectation that I’d get together with him. He’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Beyond that, be a friend, be part of his network, and involve him more in the program – and I don’t mean just the sex. He did say that he’d asked to not have the college make a big splash about the donation, so they may not ever mention his name to you.”

“Interesting. I guess bowing and kissing his toes is over the top, huh? I guess I’m impressed that he has that much money to give away. I knew he was well off because of the house you sold him, but I never thought about his networth.”

Marjorie said, “My guess is that he’s worth north of half-a-billion dollars.”

Joe whistled.

Just then, Morgan came by the couple. Hey, you’re doing business-serious stuff; not allowed in here until Monday morning. I also have a request.”

“Request, fair maiden.”

“I want some sex time with both of you this weekend. I’m feeling deprived.”

“Haven’t you been having sex with someone in the house each night, and then you’ve been sleeping in our bed most of the time.”

“Sleeping – that’s the operant word. I want some fucking, sucking, and pussy eating going on with both of you – not sleeping.”

“Ah, we love you too, Morgan,” Marjorie said as she kissed the pretty young woman.

Joe said, “Be sure you end up in our bed tonight, and don’t plan on anything tomorrow morning.”

Morgan grinned and went off.

Joe and Marjorie hosted two large Christmas parties at their regular home about a mile from campus. The first had everyone in the graduate school attend, include the deans, the president of the college, most of the trustees, several major donors, the construction workers who’d worked over the previous summer on the basement, and a contingent of students – both undergrad and graduate that had distinguished themselves in some way.

The Residential MBA students helped orchestrate the party, served, and made sure everything went smoothly and that everyone had a good time; they were co-hosts and hostesses along with Joe and Marjorie. The event was catered and about two-hundred people attended over the Sunday afternoon and evening of the event, most drifting in for an hour or two, getting seen, and then departing.

The second party was the following Saturday night: Colburn House residents and their guests only. There were a few changes in dates from the earlier parties, but the crowd looked remarkably similar to everyone who’d been at the Halfway Party and the Halloween Party. Quite a few of the smaller women dressed up in cute and sexy elf costumes that had diaphanous see-though green tops, candy-cane-striped stockings, and sexy little skirts over commando lower bodies.

Joe got cajoled into playing the role of Sexual Santa for a short skit.